Reading Before its happened ADOPTED
by PurpleRoseFromYou
Summary: Wish Catering reads The Truth About Forever.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey guys so I adopted this story from ****TealLife**** and I wanted to take a go at it so hear it is! By the way the first few chapters will be hers! K?**

**Disclaimer: Anything from this point written in bold and in a different font belongs to Sarah Dessen along with all characters stated.**

* * *

"So last night was fun." Bert said awkwardly. Kristy rolled her eyes while Monica said her standard answer, "Donneven." Kristy nodded her head seriously.

Another night's work done. The Wish catering company had just finished serving a party in the Lakeview houses. They had spilt things and served the wrong appetizer to someone who turned out to be allergic. After calling 9-1-1 and promising to may for the medical bills Delia was exhausted and frustrated.

"Did anyone of you leave this book?" Delia asked tiredly.

"Book?" Kristy said after seeing everyone shake their heads.

"Ya, it's called The Truth about Forever" Delia replied.

"That sounds like some philosophy type thing." Kristy said leaning her head against her car. Wes walked around the corner then.

"What's going on?" he asked.

"We found a book called The Truth about Forever is it yours?" Delia asked.

"The Truth about Forever? No" he replied easily.

Kristy hopped up then, "Can I see it?" Delia handed the book to her and started rubbing her pregnant stomach. She was barely listening when Kristy cleared her throat.

**"Macy's summer stretches before her, carefully planned and outlined. She will spend her days sitting at the library information desk. She will spend her evenings studying for the SATs. Spare time will be used to help her obsessive mother prepare for the big opening of the townhouse section of her luxury development. But Macy's plans don't anticipate a surprising and chaotic job with Wish Catering, a motley crew of new friends, or … Wes. Tattooed, artistic, anything-but-expected Wes. He doesn't fit Macy's life at all–so why does she feel so comfortable with him? So … happy? What is it about him that makes her let down her guard and finally talk about how much she misses her father, who died before her eyes the year before?"**

Everyone sat silent for a couple seconds. "Who is Macy?" Wes finally asked.

"I think she was that one girl from last night, the relater's party?" Delia said looking more awake then before.

"Wait, wait, wait, how is this even possible?" Kristy asked.

"Science!" Bert said.

"Is our science even that developed?" Wes asked.

"I guess so" Kristy said looking back at the book.

"Well what do we do with it?" Delia asked.

"Read it!" Bert and Kristy said.

"Should we? It sounds kind of private." Wes said.

"Oh hush you just don't want to mentioned."

Wes blushed but only slightly, "So we read it?" he asked.

"Duh." Kristy said rolling her eyes.

"Just start Kristy." Delia said finally.

**"The Truth About Forever by Sarah Dessen**

**CHAPTER ONE**

**Jason was going to Brain Camp.**

"Brain Camp?" Kristy asked. "Who's Jason?" Wes asked curiously.

**It had another name, a real name, but that's what everyone called it.**

"Oh" she said.

**"Okay," he said, wedging a final pair of socks along the edge of his suitcase. "The list. One more time."**

**I picked up the piece of paper beside me. "Pens," I said. "Notebooks. Phone card. Camera battery. Vitamins."**

**His fingers moved across the contents of the bag, finding and identifying each item. Check and double- check. With Jason, it was always about being sure.**

"That sounds kind of boring." Kristy said making a face. "Mm-hmmm" Monica responded.

**"Calculator." I continued, "Laptop. . . ."**

**"Stop," he said, putting up his hand. He walked over to his desk, unzipping the slim black bag there, then nodded at me. "Skip down to list number two."**

**I scanned down the page, found the words LAPTOP (CASE), and cleared my throat. "Blank CDs," I said. "Surge protector. Headphones. . . ."**

**By the time we'd covered that, then finished the main list—stopping to cover two other sub-headings, TOILETRIES and MISCELLANEOUS—Jason seemed pretty much convinced he had everything. Which did not, however, stop him from continuing to circle the room, mumbling to himself. It took a lot of work to be perfect.**

"Perfect? He wants to be perfect?" Kristy asked.

"He must not have a personality, a person always has flaws it helps make them who they are." Wes said.

**If you didn't want to break a sweat, there was no point in even bothering.**

**Jason knew perfect. Unlike most people, for him it wasn't some distant horizon. For Jason, perfect was just over the next hill, close enough to make out the landscape. And it wasn't a place he would just visit. He was going to live there.**

Everyone made another face.

**He was the all-state math champ, head of the debate team, holder of the highest GPA in the history of our high school (he'd been taking AP classes since seventh grade, college sections since tenth), student council president two years running, responsible for an innovative school recycling program now implemented in districts around the country, fluent in Spanish and French. But it wasn't just about academics. Jason was also a vegan and had spent the past summer building houses for Habitat for Humanity. He practiced yoga, visited his grandmother in her rest home every other Sunday, and had a pen pal from Nigeria he'd been corresponding with since he was eight years old. Anything he did, he did well.**

"That does sound like a perfect person." Delia said in awe. Everyone nodded.

**A lot of people might find this annoying, even loathsome. But not me. He was just what I needed.**

"Please anyone like that is toxic." Kristy said shaking her head slowly.

**I had known this from the first day we met, in English class sophomore year. We'd been put into groups to do an assignment on_Macbeth_, me and Jason and a girl named Amy Richmond who, after we pulled our desks together, promptly announced she was "no good at this Shakespeare crap" and put her head down on her backpack.**

"Sounds like something you'd do Kristy." Bert joked. Kristy rolled her eyes and ignored him.

**A second later, she was sound asleep.**

"Now it _really_ sounds like Kristy." Wes said. Kristy stopped briefly and stuck her tongue out at him.

**Jason just looked at her. "Well," he said, opening his textbook, "I guess we should get started."**

**This was right after everything happened, and I was in a silent phase. Words weren't coming to me well; in fact I had trouble even recognizing them sometimes, entire sentences seeming like they were another language, or backwards, as my eyes moved across them. Just printing my own name on the top of a page a few days previously, I'd second-guessed the letters and their order, not even sure of that anymore.**

"I get that." Wes said quietly. Bert and Delia nodded silently.

**So of course _Macbeth _had totally mystified me. I'd spent the entire weekend struggling with the antiquated language and weird names of the characters, unable to even figure out the most basic aspects of the story. I opened my book, staring down at the lines of dialogue: H_ad I but died an hour before this_ _chance/I had liv'd a blessed time; for, from this instant,/ there's nothing serious in mortality:/all is but toys._**

"I got nothing." Kristy said.

**Nope, I thought. Nothing.**

Everyone snorted.

**Lucky for me, Jason, who was not about to leave his grade in someone else's hands, was used to taking control of group work. So he opened his notebook to a clean page, pulled out a pen, and uncapped it. "First," he said to me, "let's just get down the basic themes of the play. Then we can figure out what to write about."**

**I nodded. All around us I could hear our classmates chattering, the tired voice of our English teacher, Mr. Sonnenberg,**

"That's a crappy name." Delia said wrinkling up her nose.

telling us again to please settle down.

**Jason skipped down a few lines on his page._Murder_, I watched him write. His handwriting was clean, block-style, and he moved across the page quickly._Power. Marriage. Revenge. Prophecy. Politics._It seemed like he could go on forever, but then he stopped and looked at me. "What else?" he asked.**

**I glanced back down at my book, as if somehow, the words there would suddenly form together into something coherent. I could feel Jason looking at me, not unkindly, just waiting for me to contribute.**

**"I don't . . ." I said finally, then stopped, the words sticking. I swallowed, then started over. "I don't understand it. Actually."**

**I was sure, hearing this, he'd shoot me the same look he'd given Amy Richmond. But Jason surprised me, putting down his pen. "Which part?"**

**"Any of it," I said, and when he didn't roll his eyes as I'd been expecting, I added, "I mean, I know there's a murder plot and I know there's an invasion but the rest . . . I don't know. It's totally confusing."**

**"Look," he said, picking up his pen again. "It's not as complicated as you think. The key to really understanding is to start with the prophecy about what's going to happen…see, here…" He started flipping pages in his book, still talking, and pointed out a passage to me. Then he read it aloud, and as his finger moved across the words it was like he changed them, magic, and suddenly they made sense.**

"Oh" said Kristy suddenly.

"What?" Bert asked totally confused.

"Macy wants him to 'fix her'" she responded a look of comprehending coming across her face.

**And I felt comfort. Finally. All I'd wanted for so long was for someone to explain everything that had happened to me in this same way. To label it neatly on a page: this leads to this leads to this.**

"See?" Kristy asked. No one responded making her pout.

**I knew, deep down, it was more complicated than that, but watching Jason, I was hopeful. He took the mess that was _Macbeth _and fixed it, and I had to wonder if he might, in some small way, be able to do the same for me. So I moved myself closer to him, and I'd been there ever since.**

"She's been broken for a long time huh?" Delia asked.

"I guess." Wes said shrugging. Delia shot him a look

**Now, he zipped up his laptop case and put it on the bed with the rest of his stuff. "Okay," he said, taking one last glance around the room. "Let's go."**

"Took him long enough." Wes said rolling his eyes.

**His mom and dad were already in their Volvo when we came outside. Mr. Talbot got out, opened the trunk, and he and Jason took a few minutes getting everything situated. As I got in the backseat and put on my seatbelt, Mrs. Talbot turned around and smiled at me. She was a botanist, her husband a chemist, both of them professors. They were so scholarly that every time I saw either of them without a book in their hands they looked weird to me, as if they were missing their noses, or their elbows.**

"That would be strange." Said Bert thoughtfully. Only Wes didn't roll his eyes.

**I tried not to think about this as she said, "So, Macy. What are you going to do until August without Jason?"**

"By the sounds of it hang out with us and Wes." Kristy said winking towards said man.

**"I don't know," I said. I was working at the library, taking over Jason's job at the information desk,**

"That sounds boring." Complained Bert.

**but other than that, the next eight weeks were just looming ahead, empty. While I had a few friends from student council, most had gone away for the summer themselves, to Europe or camp. To be honest, Jason's and my relationship was pretty time consuming: between yoga classes and student government**

"That is so not a relationship." Kristy said.

"He's a little controlling huh?" Delia said.

**stuff, not to mention all the causes we dealt with, there just hadn't been much time for anyone else. Besides, Jason got easily frustrated with people, so I'd been hesitant to invite new people out with us. If they were slow, or lazy in any way, he lost patience fast, and it was just easier to hang out with him, or with his friends, who could keep up with him. I'd never really thought about this as a bad thing, actually. It was just how we were.**

"Very controlling." Delia nodded.

**On the way to the airport, Jason and his dad discussed some elections that had just happened in Europe; his mom fretted about construction traffic; and I sat there, looking at the inch between Jason's knee and mine and wondering why I didn't try to move closer to him. This wasn't new. He hadn't even kissed me until our third date,**

"Wow." Everyone said.

**and now, after a year and a half, we still hadn't discussed going all the way. At the time we met, someone just hugging me still felt like too much to bear. I didn't want anyone to get too close. So this had been all I wanted, a boy who understood how I felt. Now, though, I sometimes wished for more.**

"That's understandable!" Delia exclaimed. Kristy nodding seriously. Monica, "Mm-hmmmm"

**At the airport, we said good-bye at the gate. His parents hugged him, then discreetly walked across the waiting room to stand at the window there, looking out at the runway and the big stretch of blue sky that hung over it. I put my arms around Jason, breathing in his smell—sport stick deodorant and acne cleanser—deeply, so I'd get enough to last me awhile.**

**"I'm going to miss you," I told him. "So much."**

**"It's only eight weeks," he said.**

"Yes, only eight weeks." Kristy said clearly frustrated.

**He kissed me on the forehead. Then, quickly, so quickly I didn't even have time to react, on the lips.**

"That's a goodbye?" Wes asked incredulously.

**He leaned back and looked at me, tightening his arms around my waist.**

**"I'll email you," he said, and kissed me on the forehead again. As they called his flight and he disappeared down the hallway to the plane, I stood with the Talbots and watched him go, feeling a tug in my chest. It was going to be a long summer. I'd wanted a real kiss, something to remember, but I'd long ago learned not to be picky in farewells. They weren't guaranteed or promised. You were lucky, more than blessed, if you got a good-bye at all.**

"At least we got that." Bert said quietly.

**My dad died. And I was there.**

**This was how people knew me. Not as Macy Queen, daughter of Deborah, who built pretty houses in brand new cul-de-sacs. Or as sister of Caroline, who'd had just about the most beautiful wedding anyone had ever seen at the Lakeview Inn the previous summer. Not even as the one-time holder of the record for the fifty-yard dash, middle school division. Nope. I was Macy Queen, who'd woken up the day after Christmas and gone outside to see her father splayed out at the end of the road, a stranger pumping away at his broad chest. I saw my dad die. That was who I was now.**

"That's horrible." Delia gasped.

**When people first heard this, or saw me and remembered it, they always made that face. The one with the sad look, accompanied by the cock of the head to the side and the softening of the chin—_oh my __goodness, you poor thing_. While it was usually well intentioned, to me it was just a reaction of muscles and tendons that meant nothing.**

"I get that." Wes said.

**Nothing at all. I hated that face. I saw it everywhere.**

"I hate it too." Bert said, barely audible now.

**The first time was at the hospital. I was sitting in a plastic chair by the drink machine when my mother walked out of the small waiting room, the one off the main one. I already knew this was where they took people to tell them the really bad news: that their wait was over, their person was dead. In fact, I'd just watched another family make this progression, the ten or so steps and the turn of a corner, crossing over from hopeful to hopeless.**

"Ya." Bert, Delia and Wes said in unison.

**As my mother—now the latter—came toward me, I knew. And behind her there was this plump nurse holding a chart, and she saw me standing there in my track pants and baggy sweatshirt, my old smelly running shoes, and she made the face._Oh, poor dear_.**

**Then though, I had no idea how it would follow me. I saw The Face at the funeral, everywhere. It was the common mask on the people clumped on the steps, sitting quietly murmuring in the pews, shooting me sideways looks that I could feel, even as I kept my head down, my eyes on the solid black of my tights, the scuffs on my shoe. Beside me, my sister Caroline sobbed: through the service, as we walked down the aisle, in the limo, at the cemetery, at the reception afterward. She cried so much it seemed wrong for me to, even if I could have. For anyone else to join in was just overkill.**

"That's not true." Kristy said, for once her voice was soft.

**I hated that I was in this situation, I hated that my dad was gone, I hated that I'd been lazy and sleepy and had waved him off when he'd come into my room that morning, wearing his smelly Waccamaw 5K shirt, leaning down to my ear to whisper,_Macy, wake up. I'll give you a head start. Come on, you_ _know the first few steps are the hardest part_. I hated that it had been not two or three but five minutes later that I changed my mind, getting up to dig out my track pants and lace my shoes. I hated that I wasn't faster on those three-tenths of a mile, that by the time I got to him he was already gone, unable to hear my voice, see my face, so that I could say all the things I wanted to. I might have been the girl whose dad died, the girl who was there, and everyone might have known it. Like so much else, I could not control that. But the fact that I was angry and scared, that was my secret to keep. They didn't get to have that, too. It was all mine.**

Wes nodded but only slightly.

When I got home from the Talbots', there was a box on the porch. As soon as I leaned over and saw the return address, I knew what it was.

**"Mom?" My voice bounced down the empty front hall as I came inside, bumping the door shut behind me. In the dining room, I could see fliers stacked around several floral arrangements, everything all set for the cocktail reception my mother was hosting that night. The newest phase of her neighborhood, luxury townhouses, was just starting construction, and she had sales to make. Which meant she was in full-out schmooze mode, a fact made clear by the sign over the mantel featuring her smiling face and her slogan:_ Queen Homes—Let Us Build Your Castle_.**

**I put the box on the kitchen island, right in the center, then walked to the fridge and poured myself a glass of orange juice. I drank all of it down, rinsed the cup, and put it in the dishwasher. But it didn't matter how I busied myself. The entire time, I was aware of the box perched there waiting for me. There was nothing to do but just get it over with.**

"What is it?" Bert finally said.

**I pulled a pair of scissors out of the island drawer, then drew them across the top of the box, splitting the line of tight brown packing tape. The return address, like all the others, was Waterville, Maine.**

**_Dear Mr. Queen,_**

**_As one of our most valued EZ Products customers, please find enclosed our latest innovation for your perusal. We feel assured that you'll find it will become as important and time-saving a part of_ _your daily life as the many other products you've purchased from us over the years. If, however,_ _for some reason you're not completely satisfied, return it within thirty days and your account will_ _not be charged._**

**_Thank you again for your patronage. If you have any questions, please feel free to contact our_ _friendly customer service staff at the number below. It's for people like you that we work to make_ _daily life better, more productive, and most of all, easy. It's not just a name: it's a promise._**

**_Most cordially,_**

**_Walter F. Tempest_**

**_President, EZ Products_**

"I love those things!" Wes and Bert said.

**I scooped out Styrofoam peanuts, piling them neatly next to the box, until I found the package inside. It had two pictures on the front. In the first one, a woman was standing at a kitchen counter with about twenty rolls of tinfoil and waxed paper stacked up in front of her. She had a frustrated expression on her face, like she was about two breaths away from some sort of breakdown. In the picture beside it, the woman was at the same counter. Gone were the boxes, replaced instead by a plastic console that was attached to the wall. From it, she was pulling some plastic wrap, now sporting the beatific look usually associated with madonnas or people on heavy medication.**

**_Are you tired of dealing with the mess of so many kinds of foil and wrap? Sick of fumbling through_ _messy drawers or cabinets? Get the Neat Wrap and you'll have what you need within easy reach. With_ _convenient slots for sandwich and freezer bags, tinfoil and waxed paper, you'll never have to dig through_ _a drawer again. It's all there, right at your fingertips!_**

**I put the box down, running my finger over the edge. It's funny what it takes to miss someone.**

"So her dad was in to that stuff?" Kristy asked.

**A packed funeral, endless sympathy cards, a reception full of murmuring voices, I could handle. But every time a box came from Maine, it broke my heart.**

"Like the lists." Wes said inaudibly.

**My dad loved this stuff: he was a sucker for anything that claimed to make life simpler. This, mixed with a tendency to insomnia, was a lethal combination. He'd be downstairs, going over contracts or firing off emails late into the night, with the TV on in the background, and then an infomercial would come on. He'd be sucked in immediately, first by the happy, forced banter between the host and the gadget designer, then by the demonstration, followed by the bonus gifts, just for ordering Right Now, by which point he was already digging out his credit card with one hand as he dialed with the other.**

Everyone smiled slightly.

**"I'm telling you," he'd say to me, all jazzed up with that prepurchase enthusiasm, "that's what I call an_innovation_!"**

**And to him, it was: the Jumbo Holiday Greeting Card Pack he bought for my mother (which covered every holiday from Kwanzaa to Solstice, with not a single Christmas card),**

"Wow." Delia said.

**and the plastic contraption that looked like a small bear trap and promised the perfect French Twist, which we later had to cut out of my hair. Never mind that the rest of us had long ago soured on EZ Products: my father was not dissuaded by our cynicism. He loved the _potential_, the possibility that there, in his eager hands, was the answer to one of life's questions. Not "Why are we here?" or "Is there a God?"**

Everyone was laughing now.

**These were queries people had been circling for eons. But if the question was, "Does there exist a toothbrush that also functions as a mouthwash dispenser?"**

"No." they all said,

**the answer was clear: Yes. Oh, yes.**

Everyone laughed again.

**"Come look at this!" he'd say, with an enthusiasm that, while not exactly contagious, was totally endearing. That was the thing about my dad. He could make anything seem like a good time.**

Delia smiled.

**"See," he'd explain, putting the coasters cut from sponges/talking pocket memo recorder/coffeemaker with remote- control on-off switch in front of you, "this is a great idea. I mean, most people wouldn't even think you could come up with something like this!"**

"Well I certainly didn't know." Kristy said.

**Out of necessity, if nothing else, I'd perfected my reaction—a wow-look-at that face, paired with an enthusiastic nod—at a young age. My sister, the drama queen, could not even work up a good fake smile, instead just shaking her head and saying, "Oh, Dad, why do you buy all that crap, anyway?" As for my mother, she tried to be a good sport, putting away her top-end coffeemaker for the new remote-controlled one, at least until we realized—after waking up to the smell of coffee at three A.M.—that it was getting interference from the baby monitor next door and brewing spontaneously. She even tolerated the tissue dispenser he installed on the visor of her BMW (_Never risk an accident reaching__for a Kleenex again!_), even when it dislodged while she was on the highway, bonking her on the forehead and almost hurling her into oncoming traffic.**

"Well, sounds like it almost caused an accident." Bert said.

**When my dad died, we all reacted in different ways. My sister seemed to take on our cumulative emotional reaction: she cried so much she seemed to be shriveling right in front of our eyes.**

"Delia." Wes whispered.

**I sat quiet, silent, angry, refusing to grieve, because it seemed like to do so would be giving everyone what they wanted.**

"Wes." Delia said.

**My mother began to organize. Two days after the funeral, she was moving through the house with a buzzing intensity, the energy coming off of her palpable enough to set your teeth chattering. I stood in my bedroom door, watching as she ripped through our linen closet, tossing out all the nubby washcloths and old twin sheets that fit beds we'd long ago given away. In the kitchen, anything that didn't have a match—the lone jelly jar glass, one freebie plate commemorating Christmas at Cracker Barrel—was tossed, clanking and breaking its way into the trash bag she dragged behind her from room to room, until it was too full to budge. Nothing was safe. I came home from school one day to find that my closet had been organized, rifled through, clothes I hadn't worn in a while just gone. It was becoming clear to me that I shouldn't bother to get too attached to anything. Turn your back and you lose it. Just like that.**

"But that's like losing him again." Delia whispered.

**The EZ stuff was among the last to go. On a Saturday morning, about a week after the funeral, she was up at six A.M., piling things in the driveway for Goodwill. By nine, she'd emptied out most of the garage: the old treadmill, lawn chairs, and boxes of never-used Christmas ornaments. As much as I'd been worried about her as she went on this tear, I was even more concerned about what would happen when she was all done, and the only mess left was us. I walked across the grass to the driveway, sidestepping a stack of unopened paint cans. "All of this is going?" I asked, as she bent down over a box of stuffed animals.**

**"Yes," she said. "If you want to claim anything, better do it now."**

**I looked across these various artifacts of my childhood. A pink bike with a white seat, a broken plastic sled, some life jackets from the boat we'd sold years ago. None of it meant anything, and all of it was important. I had no idea what to take.**

**Then I saw the EZ box. At the top, balled up and stuffed in the corner, was the self-heating hand towel my dad had considered a Miracle of Science only a few weeks earlier. I picked it up carefully, squeezing the thin fabric between my fingers.**

**"Oh, Macy." My mother, the stuffed animal box in her arms, frowned at me. A giraffe I vaguely remembered as belonging to my sister was poking out the top. "You don't want that stuff, honey. It's junk."**

"No it's not." Bert said.

**"I know," I said, looking down at the towel.**

**The Goodwill guys showed up then, beeping the horn as they pulled into the driveway. My mother waved them in, then walked over to point out the various piles. As they conferred, I wondered how many times a day they went to people's houses to take things away—if it was different when it was after a death, or if junk was junk, and they couldn't even tell.**

**"Make sure you get it all," my mother called over her shoulder as she started across the grass. The two guys went over to the treadmill, each of them picking up an end. "I have a donation . . . just let me get my checkbook."**

**As she went inside I stood there for a second, the guys loading up things from all around me. They were making a last trip for the Christmas tree when one of them, a shorter guy with red hair, nodded toward the box at my feet.**

**"That, too?" he asked.**

**I was about to tell him yes. Then I looked down at the towel and the box with all the other crap in it, and remembered how excited my dad was when each of them arrived, how I could always hear him coming down the hallway, pausing by the dining room, the den, the kitchen, just looking for someone to share his new discovery with. I was always so happy when it was me.**

They all smiled.

**"No," I said as I leaned over and picked up the box. "This one's mine."**

**I took it up to my room, then dragged the desk chair over to my closet and climbed up. There was a panel above the top shelf that opened up into the attic, and I slid it open and pushed the box into the darkness.**

**With my dad gone, we had assumed our relationship with EZ Products was over. But then, about a month after the funeral, another package showed up, a combination pen/pocket stapler. We figured he'd ordered it right before the heart attack, his final purchase—until the next month, when a decorative rock/ sprinkler arrived. When my mother called to complain, the customer service person apologized profusely. Because of my father's high buying volume, she explained, he had been bumped up to Gold Circle level, which meant that he received a new product every month to peruse, no obligation to buy.**

"Wow." Wes said. Smiling while thinking about his mom's lists.

**They'd take him off the list, absolutely, no problem.**

**But still the stuff kept coming, every month, just like clockwork, even after we canceled the credit card they had on file. I had my own theory on this, one I shared, like so much else, with no one. My dad had died the day after Christmas,**

"That's horrible." Delia gasped.

**when all the gifts had already been put into use or away. He'd given my mom a diamond bracelet, my sister a mountain bike, but when it was my turn, he'd given me a sweater, a couple of CDs, and an I.O.U. written on gold paper in his messy scrawl._More to come_, it had said, and he'd nodded as I read the words, reassuring me._Soon_. "It's late, but it's special," he'd said to me. "You'll love it." I knew this was true. I would love it, because my dad just _knew _me, knew what made me happy.**

_I know what it is!_ Wes thought.

**My mother claimed that when I was little I cried anytime my dad was out of my sight, that I was often inconsolable if anyone but he made my favorite meal, the bright orange macaroni-and-cheese mix they sold at the grocery store three for a dollar. But it was more than just emotional stuff. Sometimes, I swear, it was like we were on the same wavelength. Even that last day, when he'd given up trying to rouse me from bed, I'd sat up those five minutes later as if something had summoned me. Maybe, by then, his chest was already hurting. I'd never know.**

"It probably was."

**In those first few days after he was gone, I kept thinking back to that I.O.U., wondering what it was he'd picked out for me. And even though I was pretty sure it wasn't an EZ Product,**

_It's not._ Wes thought again.

**it felt strangely soothing when the things from Waterville, Maine, kept arriving, as though some part of him was still reaching out to me, keeping his promise.**

**So each time my mother tossed the boxes, I'd fish them out and bring them upstairs to add to my collection. I never used any of the products, choosing instead to just believe the breathless claims on the boxes. There were a lot of ways to remember my dad. But I thought he would have especially liked that.**

"Ya." Wes said quietly.

"That's the end." Kristy said.

"That was very- emotional." Delia said.

"It probably won't all be like that." Wes said reasonably.

"Should we continue it? I mean for all we know this isn't even real." Kristy offered.

"I say we do." Bert said loudly. Everyone looked at him causing him to blush.

"I want to know what happens." He said more quietly. Everyone was silent for a couple of seconds.

"Okay, I'll read next." Wes said.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Anything from this point written in bold and in a different font belongs to Sarah Dessen along with all characters stated.**

"Chapter Two?" Bert asked.

"Yes, Bert that's what comes after one." Kristy said rolling her eyes.

"Be nice." Wes said.

"I'm always nice!" Kristy said pouting.

"Can we just start?" Delia said interrupting.

"Sure." Wes said taking the book and reading.

**My mother had called me once ("Macy, honey, people are starting to arrive") and then twice ("Macy? Honey?") but still I was in front of the  
mirror,**

Wes rolled his eyes.

"Great, so she's like Kristy." Bert said groaning. Kristy shot him a look and was about to respond when Wes start to read again.

**parting and reparting my hair. No matter how many times I swiped at it with my comb, it still didn't look right.**

**Once, I didn't care so much about appearances. I knew the basics: that I was somewhat short for my age, with a round face, brown eyes, and faint freckles across my nose that had been prominent, but now you had to lean in close to see. I had blonde hair that got lighter in the summer time, slightly green if I swam too much, which didn't bother me since I was a total track rat,**

"So she raced?" Kristy asked making a face.

"Well her dad probably got her into it." Bert said.

"Ya, he couched the Lakeview Zips, he was cool." Wes stated before reading again.

**the kind of girl to whom the word hairstyle was defined as always having a ponytail elastic on her wrist. I'd never cared about how my body or I looked—what mattered was what it could do and how fast it could go.**

"I wonder what her best time is." Wes wondered.

"Why?" Kristy asked making a face.

"Well I run so-"

"Wes, she'd probably kick your butt." Bert said flatly.

**But part of my new perfect act was my appearance.**

"Perfect act?" Kristy asked, "Who wants to be perfect?"

"Kristy she's probably just trying to gain control back over her life." Delia said seriously.

**If I wanted people to see me as calm and collected, together, I had to look the part.**

**It took work. Now, my hair had to be just right, lying flat in all the  
right places. If my skin was not cooperating, I bargained with it, applying  
concealer and a slight layer of foundation, smoothing out all the red marks  
and dark circles. I could spend a full half hour getting the shadowing just  
right on my eyes, curling and recurling my eyelashes, making sure each was lifted and separated as the mascara wand moved over them, darkening, thickening. I moisturized. I flossed. I stood up straight.**

"Well, she seems pretty close to perfect." Kristy said wide eyed as Wes and Bert's eyes widened.

**I was fine.**

"I sense a recurring theme." Delia said.

"A what?" Kristy asked.

"You'll see." Kristy rolled her eyes at Delia.

**"Macy?"My mother's voice, firm and cheery, floated up the stairs. I pulled the comb through my hair, then stepped back from the mirror, letting it fall into the part again. Finally: perfect. And just in time. When I came downstairs, my mother was standing by the door, greeting a couple who was just coming in with her selling smile: confident but not off-putting, welcoming but not kiss-ass. Like me, my mother put great stock in her appearance. In real estate, as in high school, it could make or break you.**

"So this was the other day." Delia said.

"So we get to hear what she thought of us?" Bert asked, his face reddening.

"Guess so, what's up with you?" Bert asked. Wes laughed.

"You'll see."

"I freaking hate that answer." Kristy grumbled.

**"There you are," she said, turning around as I came down the stairs. "I was getting worried."**

**"Hair issues," I told her, as another couple came up the front walk. "What can I do?"**

**She glanced into the living room, where a group of people were peering at a design of the new townhouses that was tacked up on the wall. My mother always had these cocktail parties when she needed to sell, believing the best way to assure people she could build their dream house was to show off her own.**

"Interesting." Wes said interrupting himself, thinking about his art work before reading again.

**It was a good gimmick, even if it did mean having strangers traipsing through our downstairs.**

"That would be strange." Delia said making a face.

"Only because your house is a mess." Wes grinned.

"Just read Wes." Delia said irritably.

**"If you make sure the caterers have what they need," she said to me now, "that would be great. And if it looks like we're running low on brochures, go out and get another box from the garage."**

"She just had to run out huh?" Bert said grumbling and turning red again. Wes laughed and read, ignoring everyone's questioning glances.

**She paused to smile at a couple as they crossed the foyer. "Oh," she said, "and if anyone looks like they're looking for a bathroom—"**

**"Point themtoward it graciously and with the utmost subtlety, " I finished. Bathroomdetail/directions were, in fact, my specialty.**

"I'm not sure what to think of that." Kristy stated with her eyebrows crumpled together.

"Careful, you'll get wrinkles." Bert said seriously.

"Oh shut up!"

**"Good girl," she said, as a woman in a pantsuit came up the walk. "Welcome!" my mother called out, pushing the door open wider. "I'm Deborah Queen. Please come in. I'm so glad you could make it!"**

**My mother didn't know this person, of course. But part of selling was treating everyone like a familiar face.**

**"Well, I just love theneighborhood," the woman said as she stepped over the threshold. "I noticed you were putting up some new townhouses, so I thought I'd . . ."**

**"Let me show you a floor plan. Did you see that all the units come with two-car garages?You know, a lot of people don't even realize how much difference a heatedgarage can make."**

**And with that, my mother was off and running. Hard tobelieve that once schmoozing was as painful to her as multiple root when you had to do something, you had to do it. And eventually, if youwere lucky, you did it well.**

**Queen Homes, which my dad had started right out of college as a one-man trim carpenter operation, already had a good business reputation when he met my mother. Actually, he hired her. She was fresh out of college with an accounting degree, and his finances were a shambles. She'd come in, waded through his paperwork and receipts (many of which were on bar napkins and matchbooks), handled a close call with the IRS (he'd "forgotten" about his taxes a few years earlier), and gotten him into the black in the midst of all of it, they fell in love. They were the perfectbusiness team: he was all charm and fun and everyone's favorite guy to buy a beer. My mother was happy busying herself with file folders and The Bigger Picture. Together, they were unstoppable.**

"Interesting relationship." Kristy stated.

"Definitely unusual." Delia nodded.

**Wildflower Ridge, our neighborhood, had been my mother's vision.**

"All of it?" Delia asked her eyes wide.

"A small miracle." Kristy said her eyes were wide too. Wes and Bert both nodded in amazement.

**They'd done small subdivisions and spec houses, but this would be an entire neighborhood, with houses and townhouses and apartments, a little business district, everything all enclosed and fitted around a common green space. A return to communities, my mother had said. Thewave of the future.**

**My dad wasn't sold at first. But he was getting older, and his body was tired. This way he could move into a supervisory position and let someone else swing the hammers. So he agreed. Two months later, they were breaking ground on the first house: ours.**

**They worked in tandem, my parents, meeting potential clients at the model home. My dad would run through the basic spiel, tweaking it depending on what sort of people they were: he played up his Southern charm for Northerners, talked NASCAR and barbeque with locals. He was knowledgeable, trustworthy. Of course you wanted him to build your house. Hell, you wanted him to be your best friend.**

"He definitely sounds like a good guy." Delia smiled.

"He was." Wes and Bert stated both grinning.

**Then, the hard selling done, my mom would move in with the technical stuff like covenants, specifications, and prices. The houses sold like crazy. It was everything my mother said it would be. Until it wasn't.**

**I knew she blamed herself for his death, thought that maybe it was the added stress of Wildflower Ridge that taxed my dad's heart, and if she hadn't pushed him to expand so much everything would have been different.**

"Not true." Delia said quietly.

**This was our common ground, the secret we shared but never spoke aloud. I should have been with him; she should haveleft him alone. Shoulda, coulda, woulda. It's so easy in the past tense.**

**But here in the present, my mother and I had no choice but to move ahead. We worked hard, me at school, her at outselling all the other builders. We parted our hair cleanly and stood up straight, greeting company—and the world—with the smiles we practiced in the quiet of our now-too-big dream house full of mirrors that showed the smiles back. But under it all, our grief remained. Sometimes she took more of it, sometimes I did. But always, it was there.**

"That might just give _them_ a heart attack." Kristy said sadly.

"It's not healthy." Delia agreed shaking her head, remembering how Wes, Bert, and her had felt.

**I'd just finished directing an irate woman with a red-wine stain on her shirt to the powder room—one of the catering staff had apparently bumped into her, splashing her cabernet across her outfit—when I noticed the stack of fliers on the foyer table was looking a bit low.**

"Damn." Bert muttered. Wes snickered.

"Bert, you knew it was going to happen, whatever it was." Kristy said. Bert just glared at her and kept muttering.

**Grateful for any excuse to escape, I slipped outside.**

**I went down the front walk, cutting around the caterer's van in the driveway. The sun had just gone down, the sky pink and orange behindthe line of trees that separated us from the apartments one phase over. Summer was just starting. Once that had meant early track practice and long afternoons at the pool perfecting my backflip. This summer, though, I was working.**

**Jason had been at the library information desk since he was fifteen, long enough to secure a reputation as the Guy Who Knew Everything.**

**"That's _so_ boring!" Kristy whined.**

"Then don't date a guy like that." Wes said rolling his eyes.

**Patrons of the Lakeview Branch had gotten accustomed to him doing everything from finding that obscure book on Catherine the Great to fixing the library computers when they crashed. They loved him for the same reason I did: he had all the answers. He also had a cult following, particularly among his co-workers, who were both girls and both brilliant.**

"Well this will make the story more interesting." Kristy said leaning forward.

"This story was bound to be interesting, I mean Wes is actually going to create a relationship with Macy. The perfect girl with the guy who likes imperfections, it bound to have drama." Delia rolled her eyes. Kristy looked surprised at Delia's input. As did Bert and Wes, who was currently covering his face.

**never taken kindly to me as Jason's girlfriend, seeing as how, in their eyes, I wasn't even close to their intellectual level, much less his. I'd had a  
feeling that their acceptance of me as a sudden co-worker wouldn't be much warmer, and I was right.**

**During my training, they snickered as he taught me the intricate ins and outs of the library search system, rolled their eyes in tandem when I asked a question about the card catalog. Jason had hardly noticed, and when I pointed it out to him, he got impatient, as if I waswasting his time. That's not what you should be worrying about, he said.**

"He doesn't even support her!" Kristy said angrily. Delia had her eyes narrowed as well. Wes even looked slightly frustrated.

**Not knowing how to reference the tri-county library database quickly in the event of a system crash: now that would be a problem.**

**He was right, of course. He was always right. But I still wasn't looking forward to it.**

**Once I got to the garage, I went to the shelves where my mom kept her work stuff, moving a stack of FOR SALE and MODEL OPEN signs aside to pull out another box of fliers. The front door of the house was open, and I could hear voices drifting over, party sounds, laughing, and glasses clinking. I hoisted up the box and cut off the overhead light.**

"Oh man." Bert said, his face going red.

"Oh." Kristy said suddenly understanding.

**Then I headed back to the party and bathroom duty.**

**I was passing the garbage cans when someone jumped out at me from the bushes.**

"Bert!" Delia said exasperatedly.

"I was down!" Bert said, "by three!"

**"Gotcha!"**

**I shrieked and dropped the box, which hit the ground with a thunk, spilling fliers sideways down the driveway. Say what you will, but you're never prepared for the surprise attack.**

"Very true." Both Wes and Bert said nodding.

**It defines the very meaning of taking your breath away: I was gasping.**

"I get that." Kristy said glaring at Wes and Bert, both whom grinned sheepishly.

**For a second, it was very quiet. A car drove by.**

"Awkward." Kristy sang. Everyone laughed as Bert blushed.

**"Bert?" A voice came from down the driveway, by the catering van.**

"And Wes enters the story!" Kristy said dramatically. This time Wes blushed.

**"What are you doing?"**

**Beside me, a bush rustled. "I'm . . ." a voice saidhesitantly—and much more quietly—from somewhere within it. "I'm scaringyou. Aren't I?"**

**I heard footsteps, and a second later could make out a guy in a white shirt and black pants walking toward me.**

"Let's see watch she thought of you." Kristy said leaning forward.

**" Not me," he said. Now that he was right in front of me, I could see that he was tall and had brown hair that was a little bit too long. He was also  
strikingly handsome,**

Delia smiled, Kristy whistled and Wes remained blushing while Bert laughed.

**with the sort of sculpted cheekbones and angular features that you couldn't help but notice, even if you did have a boyfriend. To me he said, "You okay?"**

**I nodded. My heart was still racing, but I was recovering.  
**

**He stood there, studying the bush, then stuck his hand right into its center. A second later, he pulled another guy, this one shorter and chunkier but dressed identically, out through the foliage. He had the same dark eyes and hair, but looked younger. His face was bright red.**

**"Bert," the older guy said,sighing, as he let his hand drop. "Honestly."**

**"You have to understand," this Bert said to me, solemnly, "I'm down in a big way."**

**"Just apologize," the older guy said.**

**"I'm very sorry," Bert said. He reached up and picked a pine needle out of his hair. "I, um, thought you were someone else."**

**"It's okay," I told him.**

**The older guy nudged him, then nodded toward the fliers. "Oh, right," Bert said, dropping down to his knees. He started to pick them up, his fingers scratching the pavement, as the other guy walked a bit down the driveway, picking up the ones that had slid there.**

**"That was a good one, too,"Bert was muttering as I squatted down beside him to help. "Almost had him. Almost."**

**The light outside the kitchen door popped on, and suddenly it was very bright. A second later the door swung open.**

**"What in the world is going on out here?"**

"Delia!" The workers grinned while Delia smiled.

**I turned to see a woman in a red apron, with black curly hair piled on top of her head, standing at the top of the stairs. She was pregnant,**

Delia sighed, rubbing her tummy.**  
**

**and was squinting out into the dark with a curious, although somewhat impatient, expression. "Where is that platter I asked for?"**

**"Right here," the older guy called out as he came back up the driveway, a bunch of my fliers now stacked neatly upon the platter. He handed them to me.**

**"Thanks," I said.  
**

**"No problem." Then he took the stairs two at a time, handing the platter to the woman, as Bert crawled under the deck for the last few fliers that had landed there.**

**"Marvelous," she said. "Now, Wes, get back to the bar, will you? The  
more they drink, the less they'll notice how long the food is taking."**

**"Sure thing," the guy said, ducking through the doorway and disappearing into the kitchen.**

**The woman ran her hand over her belly, distracted, then looked back out into the dark. "Bert?" she called out loudly. "Where—"**

**"Right here,"Bert said, from under the deck.**

**She turned around, then stuck her head overthe side of the rail. "Are you on the ground?"**

**"Yes."**

**"What are you doing?"**

"Scaring the crap out of Macy." Wes grinned while Bert blushed red again.

**"Nothing," Bert mumbled.**

**"Well," the woman said, "when you're done with that,**

"Oh, Delia." Kristy laughed.

**I've got crab cakes cooling with your name on them. So get your butt in here, please, okay?"**

**"Okay," he said. "I'm coming."**

**The woman went back inside, and a second later I heard her yelling something about mini-biscuits. Bert came out from under the deck, organizing the fliers he was holding into a stack,then handed them to me.**

**"I'm really sorry," he said. "It's just this stupid thing."**

**"It's fine," I told him, as he picked another leaf out of his hair."It was an accident."**

**Bert opened his mouth, only to be shushed by Kristy. "You're going to say it in the book."**

**He looked at me, his expression serious. "There are," he said, "no accidents."**

**For a second I just stared at him. He had a chubby face and a wide nose, and his hair was thick and too short, like it had been cut at home. He was watching me so intently, as if he wanted to be sure I understood, that it took me a second to look away.**

"So intense." Kristy said mysteriously.

**"Bert" the woman yelled from inside. "Crab cakes!"**

**"Right," he said, snapping out of it. Then he backed up to the stairs and started up them quickly. When he got to the top, he glanced back down at me. "But I am sorry," he said, saying the words that I'd heard so much in the last year and a half that they hardly carried meaning anymore. Although I had a feeling he meant it. Weird.**

"Looks like she's trying to move on." Bert said.

"Ya, she just needs a little push." Delia nodded.

**"I'm sorry," he said again. And then he was gone.**

**When I got inside, my mother was deep in some conversation about zoning with a couple of contractors. I refreshed the fliers, then directed a man who was a bit stumbly and holding a glass of wine he probably didn't need to the bathroom. I was scanning the living room for stray empty glasses when there was a loud crash from the kitchen.**

**Everything in the front of the house stopped. Conversation. very air.**

"The very air." Kristy nodded dramatically.

"Oh quiet, you weren't even there!" Bert said annoyed.

**Or so it felt.**

**"It's fine!" a voice called out, upbeat and cheerful, from the other side of the door. "Carry on as you were!"**

**There was as light surprised murmur from the assembled crowd, some laughter, and then slowly the conversation built again. My mother smiled her way across the room,then put a hand on the small of my back, easing me toward the foyer.**

**"That's a spill on a client, not enough appetizers, and a crash," she said, her voice level. "I'm not happy. Could you go and convey that, please?"**

**"Right," I said."I'm on it."**

**When I came through the kitchen door, the first thing I did was step on something that mushed, in a wet sort of way, under my foot. Then I noticed that the floor was littered with small round objects, some at a standstill, some rolling slowly to the four corners of the room. A little girl in pigtails, who looked to be about two or three, was standing by the sink,fingers in her mouth and wide eyed as several of the marblelike objects moved past her.**

"Lucy." Delia and Wes said. Delia slightly exasperated and Wes with a smile.

**"Well." I looked over to see the pregnant woman standing by the stove, an empty cookie sheet in her hands. She sighed. "I guess that's it for  
the meatballs."**

**I picked up my foot to examine it, stepping aside just in time to keep from getting hit by the door as it swung open. Bert, now leafless and looking somewhat composed, breezed in carrying a tray filled with wadded-up napkins and empty glasses. "Delia" he said to the woman, "we need more crab cakes."**

**"And I need a sedative,"**

Kristy laughed, "Almost makes me wish I was there." Delia blushed.

**She replied in a tired voice, stretching her back, "but you can't have everything. Take the cheese puffs and tell them we're traying the crab cakes up right now."**

**"Are we?" Bert asked, passing the toddler, who smiled widely, reaching out for him with her spitty fingers. He sidestepped her, heading for the counter, and, unhappy, she plopped down into a sitting position and promptly started  
wailing.**

**"Not exactly at this moment, no," Delia said, crossing the room. "I'm speaking futuristically."**

**"Is that a word?" Bert asked her.**

**"Just take the cheese puffs," she said as she picked up the little girl. "Oh, Lucy, please God okay, just hold back the hysterics for another hour, I'm begging you." She looked down at her shoe. "Oh no, I just stepped in a meatball. Where's Monica?"**

**"Here," a girl's voice said from the other side of the side door.  
**

**Delia made an exasperated face. "Put out that cigarette and get in here, now. Find a broom and get up these meatballs . . . and we need to get some more of these cheese puffs in, and Bert needs . . . what else did you need?"**

**"Crabcakes," Bert said. "Futuristically speaking. And Wes needs ice."**

**"In the oven,ready any second," she said, shooting him a look as she walked over to the broom closet, toddler on her hip, and rummaged around for a second before pulling out a dustpan. "The crab cakes, not the ice. Lucy, please, don't slobber on Mommy. . . . And the ice is . . . oh, shit, I don't know where the ice is. Where did we put the bags we bought?"**

**"Cooler," a tall girl said as she came inside, letting the door slam behind her. She had long honey-blonde hair and was slouching as she ambled over to the oven. She pulled it open, a couple of inches at a time, then glanced inside before shutting it again and making her way over to the island, still moving at a snail's pace. "Done," she announced.**

"Oh Monotone." Kristy said grinning. Monica just rolled her eyes, "Donneven."

**"Then please take them out and put them on a tray, Monica," Delia snapped, shifting the toddler to her other hip. She started scooping up the  
meatballs into the dustpan as Monica made her way back to the oven, pausing entirely too long to pick up a pot holder on her way.**

**"I'll just wait for thecrab cakes," Bert said. "It's only—"  
**

**Delia stood up and glared at him.**

"God, I should have worked, better than the date I went on!" Kristy said irritably.

**It was quiet for a second, but something told me this was not my opening. I stayed put, scraping meatball off my shoe.**

**"Right,"he said quickly. "Cheese puffs. Here I go. We need more servers, by the way are grabbing at me like you wouldn't believe."**

**"Monica, get back out there," Delia said as the tall girl ambled back over, a tray of sizzling crabcakes in her hand. Putting down the dustpan, Delia moved to the island,grabbing a spatula, and began, with one hand, to load crab cakes onto the plate at lightning speed. "Now."**

**"But—"**

**"I know what I said," Delia shot back, slapping a stack of napkins onto the edge of the tray, "but this is an emergency situation, and I have to put you back in, even if it is against my better judgment. Just walk slowly and look where you're going, and be careful with liquids, please God I'm begging you, okay?"**

**This last part, I was already beginning to recognize, was a mantra of sorts for her, as if by stringing all these words together, one of them might stick.**

Delia smiled apologetically at Monica.

**"Okay," Monica said, tucking her hair behind her ear. She picked up the tray, adjusted it on her hand, and headed off around the corner, taking her time. Delia watched her go, shaking her head, then turned her attention back to the meatballs, scooping the few remaining into the dustpan and chucking them into the garbage can. Her daughter was still sniffling, and she was talking to her, softly, as she walked to a metal cart by the side door, pulling out a tray covered with Saran Wrap. As she crossed the room she balanced it precariously on her free hand,her walk becoming a slight waddle. I had never seen anyone so in need of help in my life.**

"Huh." Wes said.

"What?" Delia asked.

"That was some foreshadowing."

"But this is supposed to be real life." Kristy reminded him.

"I know, but still." Wes trailed off.

**"What else, what else," she said as she reached the island,sliding the tray there. "What else did we need?" She pressed a hand to her  
forehead, closing her eyes.**

**"Ice," I said, and she turned around and looked at me.**

**"Ice," she repeated. Then she smiled. "Thanks. Who are you?"**

**"Macy. This is my mom's house."**

**Her expression changed, but only slightly. I had a feeling she knew what was coming.**

**I took a breath. "She wanted me to come and check that everything's all right. And to convey that she's—"  
**

**"Incredibly pissed," she finished for me, nodding.**

**"Well, not pissed."**

**Just then,there was a splashing crash from the next room, followed by another short silence. Delia glanced over at the door, just as the toddler started wailing  
again.**

**"Now?" she said to me. "Well . . . yes," I said.**

"This is so entertaining." Kristy said. Everyone turned to glare at her.

"Just wait till you're in it." Bert said bitterly. Kristy nodded.

"You are so right!" She said, taking it as a compliment.

**Actually, I was betting this was an understatement. "Now, she's probably pissed."**

**"Oh, dear." She put a hand on her face, shaking her head. "This is a disaster."**

**I wasn't sure what to say. I felt nervous enough just watching all this: I couldn't imagine being responsible for it.**

**"Well," she said, after a second, "in a way, it's good. We know where we stand. Now things can only get better. Right?"**

**I didn't say anything, which probably didn't inspire much confidence.**

**Delia shook her head, "No, it didn't." She sighed.**

**Just then, the oven timer went off with a cheerful Bing! noise. "Okay," she said suddenly, as if this had signaled a call to action. "Macy. Can you answer a question?"**

**"Sure," I said.**

**"How are you with a spatula?"**

**This hadn't been what I was expecting. "Pretty good," I said finally.**

**"Wonderful," she said. "Come here."  
**

**Fifteen minutes later, I'd figured out the rhythm. It was like baking cookies,  
but accelerated: lay out cheese puffs/crab cakes on cookie sheet in neat rows, put in oven, remove other pan from oven, pile onto tray, send out. And repeat.**

"She's good at this." Wes said impressed.

"You just want her to come work here." Kristy said grinned. Wes blushed.

"No, I'm just stating a fact."

"So you don't want her to work here?" Kristy asked still grinning.

"I didn't say-" but Wes was interrupted by Delia reading on.

**"Perfect," Delia said, watching me as she laid out mini-toasts at twice my speed and more neatly. "You could have a bright future in catering,**

_More foreshadowing_ Wes thought.

my dear, if such a thing even exists."

**I smiled at this as Monica, the slothlike girl, eased through the door, carrying a tray laden with napkins. After her second spill she'd been restricted to carrying only solids, a status further amended to just trash and empty glasses once she'd bumped into the banister and sent half a tray of cheese puffs down the front of some man's shirt. You'd think moving slowly would make someone less accident prone.**

"Donneven." Everyone grinned as Monica replied, "Donneven."

**Clearly, Monica was bucking this logic.**

**"How's it going out there?" Delia asked her, glancing over at her daughter, Lucy, who was now asleep in her car seat on the kitchen table.  
Frankly, Delia had astounded me. After acknowledging the hopelessness of her situation, she had immediately righted it, putting in two more trays of  
canapés, getting the ice from the cooler, and soothing her daughter to sleep, all in about three minutes. Like her mantra of Oh-please-God-I'm-begging-you-okay; she just did all she could, and eventually something just worked. It was impressive.**

Delia smiled.

**"Fine," Monica reported flatly, shuffling over to the garbage can, where, after pausing for a second, she  
began to clear off her tray, one item at a time.**

**Delia rolled her eyes as I slid another tray into the oven. "We're not always like this," she told me,**

Everyone broke out laughing. Delia glared.

**opening another package of cheese puffs. "I swear. We are usually the model of professionalism and efficiency."**

**Monica, hearing this, snorted. Delia shot her a look.**

Everyone laughed again and Delia just sighed and smiled.

**"But," she continued, "my babysitter flaked on me tonight, and then one of my servers had other plans, and then, well, then the world just turned on me. You know that feeling?"**

**I nodded. You have no idea, I thought.**

"Not at the time no." Delia sighed sadly.

**Out loud I said, "Yeah. I do."**

**"Macy! There you are!" I looked up to see my mother standing by the kitchen doorway. "Is everything okay back here?"**

**This question, while posed to me, was really for Delia, and I could tell she knew it: she busied herself laying out cheese puffs, now at triple speed. Behind her, Monica had finally cleared her tray and was dragging herself across the room, the tray bumping against her knee.**

**"Yes," I said. "I was just asking Delia about how to make crab cakes."**

"Nice cover." Kristy said approvingly.

**As she came toward us, my mother was running a hand through her hair, which meant she was preparing herself for some sort of must have sensed this, too, as she picked up a dish towel, wiping her hands, and turned to face my mother: a calm expression on her face.**

**"The food is getting rave reviews," my mother began in a voice that made it clear a but was to follow, "but—"**

**"Mrs. Queen." Delia took a deep breath, which she then let out, placing her hand on her chest. "Please. You don't have to say anything more."**

**I opened up another tray of crab cakes, keeping my head down.**

**"I am so deeply sorry for our disorganized beginning tonight," Delia continued. "I found out I was understaffed at the last minute, but that's no excuse. I'd like to forgo your remaining balance in the hopes that you might consider us again for another one of your events."**

**The meaningful silence that followed this speech held for a full five seconds, until it was broken by Bert bursting back through the door. "Need more biscuits!" he said. "They're going like hotcakes!"**

**"Bert," Delia said, forcing a smile for my mother's sake, "you don't have to bellow. We're right here."**

**"Sorry," Bert said.**

**"Here." I handed him the tray I'd just finished and took his empty one. "There should be crabcakes in the next few minutes, too."**

**"Thanks," he said. Then he recognized me."Hey," he said. "You work here now?"**

**"Um, no." I put the empty tray down in front of me. "Not really."**

"Okay I see what you mean Wes." Delia said.

"Definitely foreshadowing." Wes nodded.

**I glanced over at my mother. Between Delia's heartfelt "sorry" and my exchange with Bert, I could see she was struggling to keep up. "Well," she said finally, turning her attention back to Delia, "I appreciate your apology, and that seems like fair compensation. The food is wonderful."**

**"Thank you so much," Delia said. "I really appreciate it."**

**Just then there was a burst of laughter from the living room, happy party noise, and my mother glanced toward it, as if reassured. "Well," she said, "I suppose I should get back to my guests." She started out of the room, then paused by the fridge. "Macy?" she said.  
**

**"Yes"**

**"When you're done in here, I could use you. Okay?"**

**"Sure," I said, grabbing a pot holder and heading over to the oven to check on the crab cakes. "I'll be there in a sec."**

**"She's been wonderful, by the way," Delia told her. "I told her if she needs work, I'll hire her in a second."**

"When did you say that?" Wes asked.

"Just then." Delia replied.

**"That's so nice of you," my mother said. "Macy's actually working at the library this summer."**

"She needs to work here then." Kristy said immediately.

"Why?" Bert asked confused.

"Too long in that place could really do some damage." Kristy told him before turning back to the reading, leaving Bert even more confused.

**"Wow,"Delia said. "That's great."**

**"It's just at the information desk," I told her,opening the oven door. "Answering questions and stuff."**

**"Ah," Delia said. "A girl with all the answers."**

**"That's Macy." My mother smiled. "She's a very bright girl."**

**I didn't know what to say to this—what could you say to this?—so I just reached in for the crab cakes, focusing on that.**

"All goes wrong grab the meatballs." Everyone recited.

"It said crab cakes though." Bert said as an afterthought. Everyone ignored him.

**When my mother left the kitchen, Delia came over, pot holder in hand, and took the tray as I slid it out of the oven. "You've been a great help," she said,  
"really. But you'd better go out there with your mom."**

**"No, it's fine," I said. "She won't even notice I'm not there."**

**Delia smiled. "Maybe not. But you should go anyway."**

**I stepped back, out of the way, as she carried the tray over to the island. In her car seat, Lucy shifted slightly, mumbling to herself, then fell quiet again.**

**"So the library, huh?" she said, picking up her spatula. "That's cool."**

**"It's just for the summer," I told her. "I'm filling in for someone. "**

**She started lifting crab cakes off the cookie sheet,arranging them on a tray. "Well, if it doesn't work out, I'm in the book. I could always use someone who can take directions and walk in a straight line."  
**

**As if to punctuate this, Monica slunk back in, blowing her bangs out of her  
face. "Catering is an insane job, though," Delia said. "I don't know why you'd want to do it, when you have a peaceful, normal job. But if for some reason you're craving chaos, call me. Okay?"**

"Do it!" Kristy said eagerly.

**Bert came back in, breezing between us, his tray now empty. "Crab cakes!" he bellowed. "Keep 'em coming!"**

**"Bert," Delia said, wincing, "I'm right here."**

**I walked**** back to the door, stepping aside as Monica ambled past me, yawning widely. Bert stood by impatiently, waiting for his tray, while Delia asked  
Monica to God, please, try and pick up the pace a little, I'm begging you. They'd forgotten about me already, it seemed. But for some reason, I wanted to answer her anyway. "Yeah," I said, out loud, hoping she could hear me. "Okay."  
**

**The last person at the party, a slightly tipsy, very loud man in a golf sweater, left around nine-thirty. My mother locked the door behind him, took  
off her shoes, and, after kissing my forehead and thanking me, headed off to her office to assemble packets for people who had signed the YES! I WANT MORE INFO sheet she'd had on the front hall table.**

"She needs a brake." Delia said quietly.

**Contacts were everything, I'd learned. You had to get to people fast, or they'd slip away.**

**Thinking this, I went up to my room and checked my email. Jason had written me, as promised,but it was mostly about things that he wanted to remind me of concerning the info desk (make sure to keep track of all copier keys, they are very expensive to replace) or other things I was handling for him while he was away (remember, on Saturday, to send out the email to the Foreign Culture group  
about the featured speaker who is coming in to give that talk in August). At the very end, he said he was too tired to write more and he'd be in touch in a couple of days. Then just his name, no "love." Not that I'd been expecting it.**

"God, she needs to dump him!" Kristy said exasperated and irritated. Delia nodded. While Wes and Bert looked on, bored.

**Jason wasn't the type for displays of affection, either verbal or not. He was disgusted by couples that made out in the hallways between classes, and got annoyed at even the slightest sappy moments in movies. But I knew that he cared about me: he just conveyed it more subtly, as concise with expressing this emotion as he was with everything else. It was in the way he'd put his hand on the small of my back, for instance, or how he'd smile at me when I said something that surprised him. Once I might have wanted more, but I'd come around to his way of thinking in the time we'd been together. And we were together, all the time. So he didn't have to do anything to prove how he felt about me. Like so much else, I should just know.**

**But this was the first time we were going to be apart for more than a weekend since we'd gotten together,and I was beginning to realize that the small reassurances I got in person would not transfer over to email. But he loved me, and I knew I'd just have to remember it now.**

Kristy groaned.

**After I logged off, I opened my window and crawled out onto the roof, sitting against one of the shutters with my knees pulled up to my  
chest. I'd been out there for a little while, looking at the stars, when I heard voices coming up from the driveway. A car door shut, then another.  
Peering over the edge, I saw a few people moving around the Wish Catering van as they packed up the last of their things.**

**". . . this other planet, that's moving within the same trajectory as Earth. It's only a matter of time before it hits us. I mean, they don't talk about these things on the news. But that doesn't mean it's not happening."**

**It was Bert talking**.

"She heard us?" Wes and Bert asked surprised.

"Apparently." Delia replied.

**I recognized his voice, a bit high-pitched and anxious, before I made him out, standing by the back of the van. He was talking to someone who was sitting on the bumper smoking a cigarette, the tip of which was bright and red in the murky dark.**

**"Ummm-hmmm,"the person said slowly. Had to be Monica. "Really."**

**"Bert, give it a rest,"another voice said, and Wes, the older guy, walked up, sliding something into the back of the van. I'd hardly seen him that night, as he'd worked the bar in the den.**

**"I'm just trying to help her be informed!" Bert said indignantly."This is serious stuff, Wes. Just because you prefer to stay in the dark—"  
**

**"Are we ready to go?" Delia came down the driveway, her voice uneven, Lucy on her hip. She had the car seat dangling from one hand, and Wes walked up and took it from her. From where I was sitting, I could make out clearly the top  
of his head, the white of his shirt. Then, as if sensing this, he leaned his head back, glancing up.**

"Aww you guys have a connection!" Kristy said smiling.

**I slid back against the wall.**

**"Did we get paid?" Bert asked.**

**"Had to comp half," she said."The price of chaos. Probably should bother me, but frankly, I'm too pregnant and exhausted to care. Who has the keys?"**

**"I do," Bert said. "I'll drive."**

**The silence**** that followed was long enough to make me want to peer over the edge of the roof again, but I stopped myself.  
**

**"I don't think so," Delia said finally.**

**"Don't even," Monica added.**

**"What?"Bert said. "Come on! I've had my permit for a year! I'm taking the test in a week! And I have to have some more practice before I get the Bertmobile."**

**"You have," Wes said, his voice low, "to stop calling it that."**

**"Bert," Delia said,sighing, "normally, I would love for you to drive. But it's been a long night and right now I just want to get home, okay? Next time, it's all you. But for now, just let your brother drive. Okay?"**

**Another silence. Someone coughed.  
**

**"Fine," Bert said. "Just fine."**

**I heard a car door slam, then another. I leaned back over to see Wes and Bert still standing at the back of the was kicking at the ground, clearly sulking, while Wes stood by impassively.**

**"It's not a big deal," he said to Bert after a minute, pulling hand through his hair. Now I knew for sure that they were brothers. They looked even more alike to me, although the similarities—skin tone, dark hair, dark eyes—were distributed on starkly different builds.**

Wes and Bert looked at each other. Delia smiled at them.

**"I never get to drive," Bert told him. "Never. Even lazy Monotone got to last week, butnever me. Never."**

**"You will," Wes said. "Next week you'll have your own car,and you can drive whenever you want. But don't push this issue now, man. It'slate."**

**Bert stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Whatever," he said, and started around the van, shuffling his feet. Wes followed him, clapping a hand on his back. "You know that girl who was in the kitchen tonight, helping Delia?" Bert asked.**

**I froze.**

**"Yeah," Wes answered. "The one you leaped out at?"**

Everyone laughed at the reminder. Bert blushed and smiled sheepishly.

**"Anyway,"Bert said loudly, "don't you know who she is?"**

**"No."  
**

**Bert pulled open the back door. "Yeah, you do. Her dad—"**

**I waited. I knew what was coming, but still, I had to hear the words that would follow. The ones that defined me, set me apart.**

**"—was the coach when we used to run in that kids' league, back in elementary school," Bert finished. "The Lakeview ?"**

**Wes opened the back door for Bert. "Oh yeah," he said. "Coach Joe, right?"**

**Right, I thought, and felt a pang in my chest.**

**"Coach Joe," Bert repeated, as he shut his door. "He was a nice guy."**

**"He was." Wes nodded.**

**I watched Wes walk to the driver's door and pull it open. He stood there for a second, taking a finallook around, before climbing in and shutting the door behind him. I had to admit, I was surprised. I'd gotten so used to being known as the girl whosedad died, I sometimes forgot that I'd had a life before that.**

**I moved back into the shadows by my window as the engine started up and the van bumped down the driveway, brake lights flashing as it turned out onto the street. There was a big wishbone painted on the side, thick black paint strokes, and from a distance it looked like a Chinese character, striking even if you didn't know,really, what it meant. I kept my eye on it, following it down through the  
neighborhood, over the hill, down to the stop sign, until it was gone.**

"That's the end of the chapter." Delia said. For a moment there was silence.

"Well, let's all get home and maybe we'll read tomorrow." Delia said again. Everyone nodded in agreement. Breaking apart and heading for their cars.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: Anything from this point written in bold and in a different font belongs to Sarah Dessen along with all characters stated.**

When everyone gathered in the morning they were tired. No one spoke for a couple moments, thinking over what had happened so far.

"Who wants to read?" Delia asked sleepily.

"I will!" Kristy said happily. Delia passed her the book and as Kristy cleared her throat everyone had their attention on her.

**I couldn't sleep.**

**I was starting my job at the library the next day, and I had that night-before-the-first-day-of-school feeling, all jumpy and nervous. But then again, I'd never been much of a sleeper. That was the weird thing about that morning when my dad came in to get me. I'd been out. Sound asleep.**

**Since then, I had almost a fear of sleeping, sure that something bad would happen if I ever allowed myself to be fully unconscious, even for a second.**

Delia frowned. "That doesn't sound very healthy." Wes didn't say anything, he had a hard time sleeping too.

**As a result, I only allowed myself to barely doze off. When I did sleep enough to dream, it was always about running.**

**My dad loved to run. He'd had me and my sister doing it from a young age with the Lakeview Zips, and later he was always dragging us to the 5Ks he ran, signing us up for the kids' division. I remember my first race, when I was six, standing there at the starting line a few rows back, with nothing at my eye level but shoulders and necks. I was short for my age, and Caroline had of course pushed her way to the front, stating clearly that at ten-almost-eleven, she didn't belong in back with the babies. The starting gun popped and everyone pushed forward, the thumping of sneakers against asphalt suddenly deafening, and at first it was like I was carried along with it, my feet seeming hardly to touch the ground. The people on the sides of the street were a blur, faces blowing by: all I could focus on was the ponytail of the girl in front of me, tied with a blue grosgrain ribbon. Some big boy bumped me hard from the back, passing, and I had a cramp in my side by the second length, but then I heard my dad.**

**"Macy! Good girl! Keep it up, you're doing great!"**

**I knew by the time I was eight years old that I was fast, faster than the kids I was running with. I knew even before I started to pass the bigger kids in the first length, even before I won my first race, then every race. When I was really going, the wind whistling in my ears, I was sure that if I wanted to, it was only another burst of breath, one more push, and I could fly.**

Wes smiled.

"She seems like she really loves running." Kristy said as if it were utterly amazing and shocking.

"Well she is a runner Kristy." Bert said rolling his eyes. Kristy shot him a look before beginning to read again.

**By then it was just me running. My sister had lost interest around seventh grade, when she discovered her best event was not, as we'd all thought, the hundred meters, but in fact flirting with the boy's track team afterwards. She still liked to run, but didn't much see the point anymore if she didn't have someone chasing after her.**

**So it was me and my dad who went to meets, who woke up early to do our standard five-mile loop, who compared T-band strains and bad-knee horror stories over icepacks and PowerBars on Saturday mornings.**

"That must be heard. That what connected her most to her dad was what he was doing when she wanted to sleep in." Delia said sadly. Everyone nodded along.

**It was the best thing we had in common, the one part of him that was all mine. Which was why, that morning, I should have been with him.**

"That's awful." Delia said.

"It sounds like she's blaming herself." Wes said. Kristy not paying attention to the conversation continued to read.

**From that morning on, running changed for me. It didn't matter how good my times were, what records I'd planned to break just days before. There was one time I would never beat, so I quit.**

**By altering the familiar route that took me past the intersection of Willow and McKinley whenever I went out, and looping one extra block instead, I'd been able to avoid the place where everything had happened: it was that easy, really, to never drive past it again. My friends from the track team were a bit harder. They'd stuck close to me, loyal, at the funeral and the days afterwards, and while they were disappointed when the coach told them I'd quit, they were even more hurt when I started to avoid them in the halls. Nobody seemed to understand that the only person I could count on not to bring up my dad, not to feel sorry for me, or make The Face—other than my mother—was me. So I narrowed my world, cutting out everyone who'd known me or who tried to befriend me.**

"That explains it." Kristy said interrupting herself.

"What?" Bert asked confused.

"Why she's so unsocial. She's hiding." Kristy said.

"Can you blame her?" Wes asked with a raised eye brow.

"Of course not, but it's not going to help in the end." Kristy said, reading before anyone could disagree.

**It was the only thing I knew to do.**

**I packed up all my trophies and ribbons, piling them neatly into boxes. It was like that part of my life, my running life, was just gone. It was almost too easy, for something I once thought had meant everything.**

**So now I only ran in my dreams. In them, there was always something awful about to happen, or there was something I'd forgotten, and my legs felt like jelly, not strong enough to hold me. Whatever else varied, the ending was the same, a finish line I could never reach, no matter how many miles I put behind me.**

**"Oh, right." Bethany looked up at me through her slim, wire-framed glasses. "You're starting today."**

Kristy narrowed her eyes reading this.

**I just stood there, holding my purse, suddenly entirely too aware of the nail I'd broken as I unfastened my seat belt in the parking lot. I'd put so much time into getting dressed for this first day, ironing my shirt, making my hair part perfectly straight, redoing my lipstick twice. Now, though, my nail, ripped across the top, jagged, seemed to defeat everything, even as I tucked it into my palm, hiding it.**

**Bethany pushed back her chair and stood up. "You can sit on the end, I guess," she said, reaching over to unlatch the knee-high door between us and holding it open as I stepped through. "Not in the red chair, that's Amanda's. The one next to it."**

**"Thanks," I said. I walked over, pulling the chair from the desk, then sat down, stowing my purse at my feet. A second later I heard the door squeak open again and Amanda, Bethany's best friend and the student council secretary, came in. She was a tall girl with long hair she always wore in a neat braid that hung halfway down her back. It looked so perfect that during long meetings, when my mind wandered from the official agenda, I'd sometimes wondered if she slept in it, or if it was like a clip-on tie, easily removed at the end of the day.**

"Looks like Macy has a hidden sense of humor." Kristy said as she laughed.

**"Hello Macy," she said coolly, taking a seat in her red chair. She had perfect posture, shoulders back, chin up. Maybe the braid helped, I thought. "I forgot you were starting today."**

**"Um, yeah," I said. They both looked at me, and I was distinctly aware of that_um_, so base, hanging in the air between us. I said, more clearly, "Yes."**

**If I was working toward perfect—working being the operative word—these girls had already reached it and made maintaining it look effortless. Bethany was a redhead with short hair she wore tucked behind her ears, and had small freckled hands with the nails cut straight across. I'd sat beside her in English, and had always been transfixed when I saw her taking notes: her print was like a typewriter, each letter exact. She was quiet and always composed, while Amanda was more talkative, with a cultured accent she'd picked up from her early years in Paris, where her family had lived while her father did graduate work at the Sorbonne. I'd never seen either of them sporting a shirt with a stain on it, or even a wrinkle. They never used anything but proper English. They were the female Jason's.**

"Sounds boring." Kristy said while yawning.

"Extremely." Bert said.

"Who _wants_ to be perfect?" Wes said making a face.

"Probably another thing she's hiding behind." Delia said evenly. They all looked at her.

"What?" she asked.

"That was kind of rude of you." Kristy said surprised. Delia's eyes widened.

"Oh no I didn't mean to be rude I just meant that she probably wants to be perfect due to all the mess of her life. It's like the opposite of what I did." Delia explained. They all continued to watch her, but Kristy began to read so they quickly turned their attentions to her.

**"Well, it's been really slow so far this summer," Amanda said to me now, smoothing her hands over her skirt. She had long, pale white legs. "I hope there's enough for you to do."**

**I didn't know what to say to that, so I just smiled my fine-just-fine smile again and turned back to the wall that my desk area faced. Behind me, I could hear them start talking, their voices low and soothing. They were saying something about an art exhibit. I looked at the clock. It was 9:05. Five hours, fifty-five minutes to go.**

**By noon, I'd answered only one question, and it concerned the location of the bathroom.**

"So it's not just her house." Wes said laughing. Kristy grinned as she read the next line.

**(So it wasn't just in my house.**

Everyone laughed as Wes blinked in surprise.

"Looks like you guys were made for each other!" Kristy said causing him to roll his eyes.

**Anywhere, I looked like I knew about the toilet, if nothing else.) There'd been a fair amount of activity at the desk: a problem with the copy machine, some inquiries into an obscure periodical, even someone with a question about the online encyclopedia that Jason had specifically trained me to handle. But even if Amanda or Bethany was helping someone else and the person came right to me, one of them jumped up, saying, "I'll be with you in just a second," in a tone that made it clear asking me would be a waste of time. The first few times this happened, I'd figured they were just letting me get my feet under me. After a while, though, it was obvious. In their minds, I didn't belong there.**

"That's really rude." Delia said looking slightly angry.

"It really is." Kristy said nodding narrowing her eyes at their behavior.

**At noon, Amanda put a sign on the desk that said will return at 1:00 and drew a bagel in a Ziploc bag from her purse. Bethany followed suit, retrieving an apple and a gingko biloba bar from the drawer next to her.**

**"We'd invite you to join us," Amanda said, "but we're drilling for our Kaplan class. So just be back here in an hour, okay?"**

**"I can stay, if you want," I said. "And then take my lunch at one, so there's someone here."**

**They both just looked at me, as if I'd suggested I could explain quantum physics while juggling bowling pins.**

"It's not as if it's a bad idea!" Delia said half exasperated half angry.

**"No," Amanda said, turning to walk out from behind the desk. "This is better."**

**Then they disappeared into a back room, so I picked up my purse and went outside, walking past the parking lot to a bench by the fountain. I took out the peanut butter and jelly sandwich I'd brought, then laid it in my lap and took a few deep breaths. For some reason, I was suddenly sure that I was about to cry.**

**I sat on the bench for an hour. Then I threw out my sandwich and went back inside. Even though it was 12:55, Bethany and Amanda were already back at the desk, which made me seem late. As I navigated a path between their chairs to get to my seat, I could feel them looking at me.**

**The afternoon dragged. The library was mostly empty, and I suddenly felt like I could hear everything: the buzzing of the fluorescent lights over my head, the squeak of Bethany's chair as she shifted position, the tappety-tap**

"Tappety-tap?" Kristy asked amused while the others laughed.

**of the online card catalog station just around the corner. I was used to quiet, but this felt sterile, lonely. I could have been working for my mom, or even flipping crab cakes with a spatula, and I wondered if I'd made the wrong choice. But this was what I had agreed to.**

**At three o'clock, I pushed my chair back and stood up, then opened my mouth to say my first words in over two hours. "I guess I'll see you guys tomorrow."**

**Amanda turned her head, her braid sliding over her shoulder. She'd been reading some thick book on the history of Italy, licking her finger with each turn of a page. I knew this because I'd heard her, every single time.**

**"Oh, right," she said, as Bethany gave me a forced smile. "See you tomorrow."**

**I could feel their gazes right around my shoulder blades as I crossed the reading room and pushed through the glass doors. There, suddenly, was the noise of the world: a car passing, someone laughing in the park across the street, the distant drone of a plane. One day down, I told myself. And only a summer to go.**

**"Well," my mother said, handing me the salad bowl, "if you were supposed to love it, they wouldn't call it work. Right?"**

"But don't they say to work in something you enjoy?" Wes questioned.

"Well to me perfect sounds dead boring so I guess in order to be perfect you have to do something equal with yourself." Kristy said before reading.

**"I guess," I said.**

**"It'll get better," she said, in the confident way of someone who has no idea, none at all. "And it's great experience. That's what really matters."**

**By now, I'd been at the library for three days, and things were not improving. I knew that I was doing this for Jason, that it was important to him, but Bethany and Amanda seemed to be pooling their considerable IQs in a single-minded effort to completely demoralize me.**

"I think they deserve to be slapped." Kristy said.

"Oh Kristy." Delia said exasperatedly.

**I was trying to keep my emails to Jason upbeat and reassuring, but after day two, I couldn't help but vent a little bit about Bethany and Amanda and the way they'd been treating me. That was even before another dressing down in front of a patron, this time from Bethany, who felt compelled to point out—twice—that, to her trained ear, I'd mispronounced Albert Camus' name while directing a sullen summer school student to the French literature section.**

**"Cam-oo," she'd said, holding her mouth in that pursed, French way.**

**"Cam-oo," I repeated. I knew I'd said it right and wasn't sure why I was letting her correct me. But I was.**

**"No, no." She lifted up her chin again, then fluttered her fingers near her mouth. "Cam-ooo."**

**I just looked at her, knowing now that no matter how many times I said it, even if I trotted Albert himself up to give it a shot, it wouldn't matter. "Okay," I said. "Thanks."**

**"No problem," she said, swiveling in her stupid chair, back to Amanda, who smiled at her, shaking her head, before going back to what she was doing.**

**So it was no wonder that when I got home that day, I was cheered, greatly, to see that Jason had written me back._ He_knew how impossible those girls were; he would understand. A little reassurance, I thought, opening it with a double-click. Just what I needed.**

**After I scanned the first two lines, though, it was clear that my self-esteem and general emotional well-being were, to Jason anyway, secondary._ After your last email_, he wrote,_ I'm concerned that_ _you're not putting your full attention into the job. Two full paragraphs about the info desk, but_ _you didn't answer the questions I asked you: did the new set of_Scientific Monthly Anthologies_ come_ _in? Have you been able to access the tri-country database with my password_? Then, after a couple of reminders about other things it was crucial I attend to, this:_ If you're having problems with Bethany_ _and Amanda, you_ _should address them directly. There's no place in a working environment for these interpersonal issues._**

"He sounds like a god awful boyfriend." Kristy said disgusted.

"What is a good boyfriend to you Kristy?" Bert asked in amusement.

"I don't know. Someone extraordinary." She replied. They all stared at her blankly before shaking their heads and letting her continue reading.

**He didn't sound like my boyfriend as much as middle management. Clearly I was on my own.**

**"Honey?"**

**I looked up. Across the table, my mother was looking at me with a concerned expression, her fork poised over her plate. We always ate at the dining room table, even though it was just the two of us. It was part of the ritual, as was the rule that she fixed the entree, I did the salad or vegetable, and we lit the candles, for ambiance. Also we ate at six sharp, and afterwards she rinsed the dishes and loaded them in the dishwasher, while I wiped down the counters and packed up leftovers. When we'd been four instead of two, Caroline and my dad had represented the sloppy, easygoing faction. With them gone, my mother and I kept things neat and organized. I could spot a crumb on the countertop from a mile off, and so could she.**

**"Yes?" I said.**

**"Are you okay?"**

**As I did every time she asked this, I wished I could answer her honestly. There was so much I wanted to tell my mother, like how much I missed my dad, how much I still thought about him. But I'd been doing so well, as far as everyone was concerned, for so long, that it seemed like it would be a failure of some sort to admit otherwise.**

"She really should confront her mother." Delia said frowning.

"Yes, but by the sound of it her mother is ignoring it completely." Wes said.

"But isn't Macy doing the same thing?" Bert asked.

"She is, but as the mother she should be helping her family, but because she's ignoring it she's blind to her daughter's pain." Delia ranted.

"Jeez. Calm down Delia." Kristy teased. Delia sighed.

"Just read Kristy."

**As with so much else, I'd missed my chance.**

**I'd never really allowed myself to mourn, just jumped from shocked to fine-just-fine, skipping everything in between. But now, I wished I had sobbed for my dad Caroline-style, straight from the gut. I wished that in the days after the funeral, when our house was filled with relatives and too many casseroles and everyone had spent the days grouped around the kitchen table, coming and going, eating and telling great stories about my dad, I'd joined in instead of standing in the doorway, holding myself back, shaking my head whenever anyone saw me and offered to pull out a chair. More than anything, though, I wished I'd walked into my mother's open arms the few times she'd tried to pull me close, and pressed my face to her chest, letting my sad heart find solace there. But I hadn't. I wanted to be a help to her, not a burden, so I held back. And after a while, she stopped offering. She thought I was beyond that, when in fact I needed it now more than ever.**

**My dad had always been the more affectionate of the two of them, known for his tight-to-the-point-of-crushing bear hugs, the way he'd ruffle my hair as he passed by. It was part of his way of filling a room. I always felt close to him, even when there was a distance between us. My mom and I just weren't that effusive. As with Jason, I knew she loved me, even if the signs were subtle: a pat on my shoulder as she passed; her hand smoothing down my hair; the way she always seemed to be able to tell, with one glance, when I was tired or hungry. But sometimes I longed for that sense of someone pulling me close, feeling another heartbeat against mine, even though I'd often squirmed when my dad grabbed hold and threatened to squeeze the life out of me. It was another thing I never thought I'd miss, but did.**

"You'll be good for her Wes." Delia said after listening to that.

"I do have a girlfriend you know!" he said exasperated, but he couldn't ignore that he was interested in the girl he had never actually had a conversation with.

"Yes, but you need to dump her." Kristy said and started reading as Wes looked ready to retort.

**"I'm just tired," I told my mother now. She smiled, nodding: this she understood. "Tomorrow will be better."**

**"That's right," she replied, with certainty. I wondered if hers was an act, too, or if she really believed this. It was so hard to tell. "Of course it will."**

**After dinner, I went up to my room and, after a few false starts and a fair amount of deleting, composed what I thought was a heartfelt yet not too cloying email to Jason. I answered all his questions about the job, and attached, as requested, a copy of the school recycling initiatives he'd implemented, which he wanted to show someone he'd met at camp. Then, and only then, did I allow myself to cross from the administrative to the personal.**

**I know it may seem petty to you, all this info desk drama, I wrote._ But I guess I just really miss you,_ _and I'm lonely, and it's hard to go to a place where you're so spectacularly unwelcome. I'll just be_ _really happy when you're home_.**

**This, I told myself, was the equivalent of touching his shoulder, or resting my knee against his as we watched TV. When you only had words, you had to make up for things, say what you might not need to otherwise. In fact, I felt so sure of this, I took it a step further, closing with _I love you, Macy_. Then I hit the send button before I had a chance to change my mind.**

"Why do I feel like this won't end well?" Kristy groaned.

"Because she has an awful boyfriend?" Bert suggested.

"Yes!" Kristy said, sighing, and beginning to read again.

**With that done, I walked over to my window, pushing it open, and crawled outside. It had rained earlier, one of those quick summer storms, and everything was still dripping and cool. I sat on the sill, propping my bare feet on the shingles. It was the best view, from my roof. You could see all Wildflower Ridge, and even beyond, to the lights of the Lakeview Mall and the university bell tower in the distance. In our old house, my bedroom had been distinct for a different reason. It had the only window that faced the street and a tree with branches close enough to step onto. Because of this, it got a lot of use. Not from me, but from Caroline.**

**She was wild. There was no other word for it. From seventh grade on, when she went, in my mother's words, "boy crazy," keeping Caroline under control was a constant battle. There were groundings. Phone restrictions. Cuttings off of allowance, driving privileges. Locks on the liquor cabinet. Sniff tests at the front door. These were played out, in high dramatic form, over dinners and breakfasts, in stomping of feet and raising of voices across living rooms and kitchens. But other transgressions and offenses were more secret. Private. Only I was witness to those, always at night, usually from the comfort of my own bed.**

**I'd be half sleeping, and my bedroom door would creak open, then close quickly. I'd hear the pat-pat of bare feet across the floor, then hear her drop her shoes on the carpet. Next, I'd feel the slight weight as she stepped up onto my bed.**

**"Macy," she'd whisper, softly but firmly. "Quiet. Okay?"**

**She'd step over my head, then hoist herself up on the sill that ran over my bed, slowly pushing open the window.**

"Sounds like something you'd do Kristy." Wes teased.

"Guilty." Kristy said smiling and reading again.

**"You're going to get in trouble," I'd whisper.**

**She'd stick her feet out the window. "Hand me my shoes," she'd say, and when I did she'd toss them out onto the grass, where I'd hear them land with a distant, muted_thunk_.**

**"Caroline."**

**She'd turn and look at me. "Shut it behind me, don't lock it, I'll be back in an hour. Sweet dreams, I love you." And then she'd disappear off to the left, where I'd hear her easing herself down the oak tree, branch by branch. When I sat up to shut the window she was usually crossing the lawn, her footsteps leaving dark spots in the grass, shoes tucked under her arm. By the stop sign a block down, a car was always waiting.**

**It was always more than an hour, sometimes several, before she appeared on the other side of the window, pushing it back up and tumbling in on top of me. All businesslike in the leaving, my sister was usually sloppy and sentimental, smelling of beer and sweet smoke, upon her return. She was often so sleepy she didn't even want to go back to her own room, instead just pushing her way under my blankets, shoes still on, makeup smearing my pillowcases. Sometimes she was crying, but she would never tell me why. Instead she'd just fall asleep beside me, and I'd doze in fits and spells before shaking her awake as the sun was rising and pushing her back to her own room, so she wouldn't be discovered. Then I'd crawl back into bed, smelling her all around me, and tell myself that next time, I would lock that window. But I never did.**

**By the time we moved to Wildflower Ridge, Caroline was in college. She was still going out all the time, sometimes way late, but my parents had given up trying to stop her. Instead, in exchange for her living at home while she attended the local university and waited tables at the country club, they required only that she keep her GPA above a 3.0 and make her entrances and exits as quietly as possible. She didn't need to use my window, which was a good thing, because in the new house there was not a tree nearby and the drop was a lot farther.**

**After my dad died, she sometimes didn't come home at all. My mind had raced with awful possibilities, picturing her dead on the highway, but the truth was actually much more innocuous. By then, she'd already fallen hard for Wally from Raleigh, the once-divorced up-and-coming lawyer ten years her senior she'd been seeing for a while. She'd kept him, like so much else, secret from our parents, but after the funeral things got more serious, and before long, he asked her to marry him. All of this took longer than it sounds, summing it up.**

"Well obviously." Wes said.

"Don't be rude!" Kristy said.

"You just think like so you feel by me insulting her I'm insulting you." Wes replied.

"Think what you want." She replied before reading again.

**But at the time it seemed fast, really fast. One day Caroline was tumbling in my window; the next I was standing at the front of a church, all too aware of my uncle Mike walking her down the aisle toward Wally.**

**People made their comments, of course, about Caroline just needing a father figure, and how she was too young, getting married right after graduation. But she adored Wally, anyone could see that, and the quick nature of the wedding planning made it that much more of a happy distraction for all of us that spring. Plus, and best of all, their shared conviction that this had to be the Best Wedding Ever finally gave Caroline and my mother a solid common ground, and they'd gotten along pretty well ever since.**

**So after all that rebellion in her teens, my sister turned out to be surprisingly efficient, bagging a college diploma and a husband all within the same month. Now, as Mrs. Wally Thurber, she lived in Atlanta, in a big house on a cul-de-sac where you could hear a highway roaring twenty-four hours a day. It was climate controlled, with a top-of-the-line thermostat system. She never had to open a window for anything.**

**As for me, I wasn't much for sneaking out, first because I was a jock and always had early practice, and then because Jason and I just didn't do stuff like that. I could only imagine how he'd react if I asked him to pick me up at midnight at the stop sign.**

Wes snorted at the thought.

"Why? Nothing will be open God Macy." Wes said mockingly.

Everyone laugh. Kristy hardest of all as she read on.

**Why? he'd say. Nothing would be open, I have yoga in the morning, God, Macy, honestly.**

"Wow spot on beside the yoga." Bert said snorting as everyone laughed while Wes turned slightly pink.

**And so on. He'd be right, of course. The sneaking out, the partying, all those long nights doing God-knows-what, were Caroline things. She'd taken them with her when she left, and there was no place for them here now. At least in my mind.**

**"Macy," she'd say whenever she called and found me home on a Friday night, "what are you doing?**

**Why aren't you out?" When I'd tell her I was studying, or doing some work for school, she'd exhale so loudly I'd have to hold the phone away from my ear. "You're young! Go out and live, for God sakes! There's time for all that later!"**

"I agree." Kristy said nodding.

"You know I think I do too." Delia said. They stared at her.

"What it's like you said. What she's doing is unhealthy." Delia defended. Kristy smiled at her and continued to read.

**My sister, unlike most of her new friends in the garden club and Junior League, did not gloss over her wild past, maintaining instead that it had been crucial to her development as a person. In her view, my own development in this area was entirely too slow-going, if not completely arrested.**

**"I'm fine," I'd tell her, like I always did.**

**"I know you are, that's the problem. You're a_teenager_, Macy," she'd say, as if I weren't aware of this or something. "You're supposed to be hormonal and crazy and emotional and wild. This is the best time of your life! You should be living it!"**

Kristy nodded.

**So I'd swear that I was going out the next night, and she'd tell me she loved me, and then I'd hang up and go back to my SAT book, or my ironing, or the paper that wasn't due for another two weeks. Or sometimes I'd crawl out onto the roof and remember her wild days and wonder if I really was missing something.**

"You are." Kristy said.

**Probably not.**

Then she sighed.

**But the roof was still a nice sitting spot, at any rate. Even if my adventures in the outside world, my God-knows-what, started and ended there.**

**Work, despite my mother's assurances, did not improve. In fact, I'd come to realize that the cold treatment I'd received initially was actually Bethany and Amanda being_nice_. Now they hardly spoke to me at all, while keeping me as idle as possible.**

**By Friday, I'd had enough silence to last a lifetime. Which was too bad for me, because my mother was down at the coast for a weekend developer meet-and-greet conference. I had the entire house, every silent inch of it, to myself for two full days.**

**She'd invited me to come along, offering the opportunity to lie on the beach or by the pool, all that fun summer beach stuff. But we both knew I'd say no, and I did. It was just one more thing that reminded me of my dad.**

**We had a house at the beach, in a little town called Colby that was just over the bridge. It was a true summer house, with shutters that creaked when the wind blew hard, and a front porch that was always covered in the thinnest layer of sand. While we all went down for the big summer weekends, it was mostly my dad's place. He'd bought it before he met my mom, and all the bachelor touches pretty much remained. There was a dartboard on the pantry door, a moose head over the fireplace, and the utensil drawer held everything my dad considered crucial to get by: a beer opener, a spatula, and a sharp fillet knife. Half the time the stove was on the fritz, not that my dad even noticed unless my mom was there. As long as the grill was gassed up and working, he was happy.**

**It was his fishing shack, the place he took his buddies to catch red drum in October, mahimahi in April, bluefin tuna in December. My dad always came home with a hangover, a coolerful of fish already cleaned, and a sunburn despite the SPF 45 my mom always packed for him. He loved every minute of it.**

"I would too." Wes said.

"Same." Kristy said smiling.

"Fishing?" Bert asked.

"Well not that, but the rest sounds good." She said shrugging.

**I wasn't allowed on these trips—they were, traditionally, estrogen-free—but he often took me down on other weekends, when he needed to work on the house or just felt like getting away. We'd cast off from the beach or take out his boat, play checkers by the fire, and go to this hole-in-the-wall place called the Last Chance, where the waitresses knew him by name and the hamburgers were the best I'd ever tasted. More than our old house, or our Wildflower Ridge place, the beach shack_was_my dad. I knew if he was haunting any place, it would be there, and for that reason I'd stayed away.**

"Really? I feel like I'd want to go there just for that reason." Kristy mused.

"She's feeling guilty so she stays away." Delia explained. Kristy just nodded and continued to read.

**None of us had been down, in fact, since he died. His old Chevy truck was still there, locked in the garage, and the spare key it was always my job to fish out from the conch shell under the back porch had probably not been touched either. I knew my mom would probably sell the house and the truck eventually, but she hadn't yet.**

**So on Friday afternoon, I came home to find the house completely and totally quiet. This would be good, I told myself. I had a lot of stuff I wanted to get done over the weekend: emails to send out, research on colleges to do, and my closet had gotten really cluttered. Maybe this would be the perfect time to organize my winter sweaters and get some stuff to the thrift shop. Still, the silence was a bit much, so I walked over and turned on the TV, then went upstairs to my room to the radio, flipping past the music channels until I landed on a station where someone was blathering on about science innovations in our century. Even with all those voices going, though, I was acutely aware that I was alone.**

**Luckily, I got proof otherwise when I checked my email and there was one from Jason. By the second line, though, I knew a bad week had just gotten much, much worse.**

Kristy groaned. "I knew this wouldn't end well." She then read on.

**_Macy,_**

**_I've taken some time before writing back, because I wanted to be clear and sure of what I was going to_ _say. It's been a concern of mine for a while that we've been getting too serious, and since I've been gone_ _I've been thinking hard about our respective needs and whether our relationship is capable of filling them._ _I care about you, but your increasing dependency on me_—_made evident from the closing of your last_ _email_—_has forced me to really think about what level of commitment I can make to our_ _relationship. I care about you very much, but this upcoming senior year is crucial in terms of my_ _ideological and academic goals, and I cannot take on a more serious commitment. I will have to_ _be very focused, as I'm sure you will be, as well. In view of all these things, I think it's best for us_ _to take a break from our relationship, and each other, until I return at the end of the summer. It_ _will give us both time to think, so that in August we'll know better whether we want the same_ _things, or if it's best to sever our ties and make this separation permanent_.**

**_I'm sure you can agree with what I've said here: it just makes sense. I think it's the best solution for both of us._**

"Did he just say she didn't line up with his goals?" Delia asked angrily. Bert and Wes shook their heads in disgust.

"I really hate him." Kristy said angrily and read on with fury in her voice.

**I read it through once, then, still in shock, again. This isn't happening, I thought.**

**But it was. The world was still turning: if I needed proof, there was the radio across the room, from which I could hear headlines. A war in some Baltic country. Stocks down. Some TV star arrested. And there I sat, staring at the flickering screen, at these words. Words that, like the first ones Jason had read to me from_Macbeth_, were slowly starting to make awful sense.**

**A break. I knew what that meant: it was what happened right before something was officially and finally broken.**

"See Wes." Kristy said turning to him feeling smug despite everything. Wes rolled his eyes, but secretly felt it was probably true.

**Finished. Regardless of the language, it was most likely I was out, all for saying_I love you_. I'd thought we'd said as much to each other in the last few months, even if we never said it aloud. Clearly I'd been wrong.**

**I could feel my sudden aloneness in my gut, like a punch, and I sat back in my chair, dropping my hands from the keyboard, now aware of how empty the room, the house, the neighborhood, the world, was all around me. It was like being on the other side of a frame and seeing the camera pull back, showing me growing smaller, smaller, smaller still until I was just a speck, a spot, gone.**

**I had to get out of there. So I got in my car and drove.**

**And it helped. I don't know why, but it did.**

"Probably because it gave her a sense of control." Wes said thoughtfully.

**I wound through Wildflower Ridge, cresting the hills and circling the ground that had just been broken for the newest phase, then ventured farther, onto the main road and toward the mall. I drove in silence, since every song on the radio was either someone shrieking (not good for my nerves) or someone wailing about lost love (not good, period). In the quiet I'd been able to calm down as I focused on the sound of the engine, of gears shifting, brakes slowing, all things that, at least for now, were working just as they were supposed to.**

"Looks like you were right Wes." Kristy said.

"Looks like it." He replied dryly, he knew how she was feeling.

**On my way back, traffic was thick, everyone out for their Friday night. At stoplights I looked at the cars**

**around me, taking in families with kids in car seats, probably headed home from dinner, and college girls in club makeup, blasting the radio and dangling cigarettes out their open windows. In the middle lane, surrounded by all these strangers, it seemed even more awful that I was going back to an empty house, up to my room to face my computer screen and Jason's email. I could just see him typing it out at his laptop, so methodical, somewhere between condensing the notes he'd taken that day and logging on to his environmental action Listservs. To him, I was a commitment that had become more of a burden than an asset, and his time was just too precious to waste. Not that I had to worry about that. From now on, clearly, I would have plenty of time on my hands.**

**As I approached the next intersection, I saw the wishbone.**

"She's going to fallow us!" Bert said excitedly.

"You don't know that." Wes said slightly nervous.

**Same bold black strokes, same white van. It was passing in front of me now, and I could see Delia driving, someone else in the passenger seat. I watched them move across the intersection, bumping over the slight dip in the middle, wish, it said on the back, two letters on each door.**

**I am not a spontaneous person. But when you're alone in the world, really alone, you have no choice but to be open to suggestions. Those four letters, like the ones that I'd written to Jason, had many meanings and no guarantees. Still, as the van turned onto a side street, I read that wish again. It seemed as good a time as any to believe, so when my light dropped to green and I could go, I put myself in gear and followed them.**

"I get to work with Macy!" Kristy exclaimed excitedly. Delia smiled.

"The chaos will probably be good for her." She commented. Bert smiled too.

"She seems pretty cool." He agreed. Monica nodded.

"Mhmmmm." She said.

Wes didn't say anything. Despite everything and not believing that everything in the book was actually going to happen, he was excited to read on too.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: Anything from this point written in bold and in a different font belongs to Sarah Dessen along with all characters stated.**

"I'll read," Bert offered and immediately took the book when it was given to him.

"You can _read_?" Kristy asked in mock surprise. Bert ignored her, while Wes shot Kristy an annoyed look, but didn't say anything.

"Chapter Three." Bert said, before continuing on.

**""So I say, I_know __that you're not insulting my outfit. I mean, I can take a lot—already have taken a lot—but I won't tolerate that. You're my sister. You know. A girl has got to draw the line somewhere, right?"_**

Monica rolled her eyes as she automatically recognized this dialogue to belong to her sister.

**Okay, I thought. Maybe this was a bad idea.**

"No! It's a great idea!" Kristy shouted, even though Macy was not even there, and Delia nodded in agreement.

"You don't have to yell about it." Wes said, rubbing his ears, whilst gesturing for Bert to carry on.

**After almost turning back three times, two drive-bys and one final burst of courage, I was standing in front of McKimmon House, a mansion in the historical district. In front of me was the Wish Catering van, now parked crookedly against the curb, the back doors flung open to reveal several racks of serving pans, blocks of packaged napkins, and a couple of dented rolling carts. Inside, I could hear a girl's voice.**

**"So I do it: I draw the line. Which means, in the end, that I have to walk, like, two miles in my new platform sandals, which gave me blisters you would not believe," she continued, her voice ringing out over the quiet of the street. "I mean, we're talking deserted roads, no cars passing, and all I could think was—grab those spoons, no, not those, the other ones, right there—that this has got to officially be the worst first date_ever . __You know?"_**

"Okay," Kristy sang slightly, "Canceling _that_date." and Wes frowned slightly at that.

"Don't you think that's a bad idea. This could all mess up the whole time space continuum." Wes' words rang through the room and they all stared at him.

"Donneven." Monica said and Kristy snorted.

"God, you sound like Bert!" Kristy said and Bert frowned.

"Hey, the end of the world is right around the corner! There is proof to back it up!" Bert cried, but Kristy just shook her head while Delia sighed slightly.

"Leave it be. We'll discuss this later." she said with a tone of finality and curiosity of what was to come.

**I took a step backwards, retreating. What had I been thinking, anyway? I started to turn back to my car, thinking at least it wasn't too late to change my mind.**

"No! Come back! Don't leave me with these idiots!" Kristy called out without thinking. Wes, Monica, Delia, and Bert all turned to look at her with different expressions on their faces. Wes and Bert looked irritated, Delia looked slightly hurt, and Monica just didn't seem to care. Kristy flinched seeing Delia's hurt expression and amended her previous statement.

"No! Come back! Don't leave me with these idiots, minus Delia!" Kristy cried and this time received many amused expressions while Delia just shook her head in exasperation.

**Just then, though, a girl walked to the open doors of the van and saw me. She was small, with a mass of blonde ringlets spilling down her back, and with one look, I just knew it was she I'd heard. It was what she had on that made it obvious: a short, shiny black skirt, a white blouse with a plunging neck, tied at the waist, and thigh-high black boots with a thick heel. She had on bright red lipstick, and her skin, pale and white, was glittering in the glow of the streetlight behind me.**

"Oo! That sounds like a great outfit!" Kristy said with a bright smile as Bert rolled his eyes.

**"Hey," she said, seeing me, then turned her back and grabbed a pile of dishtowels before hopping out of the van.**

**"Hi," I said. There was more I was going to say, entire words, maybe even a sentence. But for some reason I just froze, as if I'd gotten this far and now could go no further.**

**She didn't seem to notice, was too busy grabbing more stuff out of the van while humming under her breath. When she turned around and saw me still standing there, she said, "You lost or something?"**

**Again I was stuck for an answer. But this time, it was for a different reason.**

"Ah, the scars." Kristy nodding and everyone else flinched at her casual tone.

"How can you take that so lightly?" Wes asked frowning slightly, but Kristy just shrugged.

"I'm just used to it, I guess. Besides, " Kristy paused with a grin, "I'm still beautiful."

**Her face, which before had been shadowed in the van, was now in the full light, and my eyes were immediately drawn to two scars: one, faint and curving along her jaw line, like an underscore of her mouth, and the other by her right temple, snaking down to her ear. She also had bright blue eyes and rings on every finger, and smelled like watermelon bubble-gum, but these were things I noticed later. The scars, at first, were all I could see.**

**Stop staring, I told myself, horrified at my behavior. The girl, for her part, didn't even seem to notice, or be bothered. She was just waiting, patiently, for an answer.**

"How annoying." Delia said, but Kristy just shrugged again, "Used to it."

**"Um," I said finally, forcing the words out, "I was looking for Delia?"**

**The front door of the van slammed shut, and a second later Monica, the slow girl from my mother's party, appeared. She was carrying a cutting board, which, by the expression of weariness on her face, must have weighed about a hundred pounds. She blew her long bangs out of her face as she shuffled along the curb, taking her time.**

**The blonde girl glanced at her. "Serving forks, too, Monotone, okay?"**

**Monica stopped, then turned herself around slowly—a sort of human three-point turn—and disappeared back behind the van at the same snail's pace.**

**"Delia's up at the house, in the kitchen," the girl said to me now, shifting the towels to her other arm. "It's at the top of the drive, around back."**

**"Oh," I said, as Monica reappeared, now carrying the cutting board and a few large forks. "Thanks."**

**I started over to the driveway, getting about five feet before she called after me.**

**"If you're headed up there anyway," she said, "would you please please please take something with you? We're running late—and it's kind of my fault, if you want the whole truth—so you'd be really helping me out. If you don't mind."**

"We're always running late." Delia said with a sigh.

**"Sure," I said. I came back down the driveway, passing Monica, who was muttering to herself, along the way. At the back of the van, the blonde girl had pulled out two of the wheeled carts and was piling foil pans onto them, one right after another. When she was done she stuck the towels on top of one, then rolled the other over to me.**

**"This way," she said, and I followed her, pushing my cart, to the bottom of the driveway. There we stopped, looking up. It was steep, really steep. We could see Monica still climbing it, about halfway up: it looked like she was walking into the wind.**

They all groaned in unison at the thought of having to climb such a hill.

"Can't we just drive up it?" Kristy asked Delia, who shook her head sadly.

"Not with these kind of houses. The grass is 'delicate'" Delia said and they all snorted before continuing.

**The girl looked at me, then at the driveway again. I kept noticing her scars, then trying not to, which seemed to make it all that more obvious. "God," she said, sighing as she pushed her hair out of her face, "doesn't it seem, sometimes, that the whole damn world's uphill?"**

Kristy nodded her head in agreement with herself and the rest decided not to bother telling her that she was agreeing with herself.

**"Yeah," I said, thinking about everything that had already happened to me that night. "It sure does."**

Kristy smiled.

**She turned her head and looked at me, then smiled: it changed her whole face, like a spark lighting into a flame, everything brightening, and for a second I lost track of the scars altogether.**

Kristy's smile widened slightly while Wes, Delia, Bert, and Monica all nodded in agreement. Kristy's smile did have a way of lighting up the room.

**"Oh well," she said, leaning over her cart and tightening her fingers around its handle. "At least we know the way back will be easy. Come on."**

**Her name was Kristy Palmetto.**

**We introduced ourselves about halfway up the hill, when we stopped, wheezing, to catch our breath.**

**"Macy?" she'd said. "Like the store?"**

**"Yes," I replied. "It's a family name, actually."**

**"I like it," she said. "I intend to change my name as soon as I get to a place where nobody knows me, you know, where I can reinvent myself. I've always wanted to do that. I think I want to be a Veronique. Or maybe Blanca. Something with flair, you know. Anybody can be a Kristy."**

"Veronique. That's a new one. I like it." Kristy said smiling again.

**Maybe, I thought, as she started to push her cart again. But even five minutes into our friendship, I knew that this Kristy was different.**

"I defiantly like this girl." Kristy decided and Bert rolled his eyes, but the other three didn't say anything.

**As we came up to the side door it opened, and Delia stuck her head out. She had on a red Wish Catering apron and there was a spot of flour on her cheek. "Are those the ham biscuits? Or the shrimp and grits?"**

**"The biscuits," Kristy said, pushing her cart up against the side of house and gesturing for me to do the same. "Or the shrimp."**

Delia sighed at that answer, but didn't say anything.

**Delia just looked at her.**

**"It's definitely one or the other," Kristy said. "Definitely."**

**Delia sighed, then came out and started peering into the various pans on the carts.**

**Kristy leaned against the wall, crossing her arms over her chest. "That hill is a killer," she said to Delia. "We've got to get the van up here or we'll never get everything in on time."**

**"If we'd left when we were supposed to," Delia said, lifting the lid of one pan, "we could have."**

**"I said I was sorry!" Kristy said. To me she added, "I was having a fashion crisis. Nothing looked good. Nothing! Don't you hate it when that happens?"**

**"And anyway," Delia continued, ignoring this tangent, "they have strict rules about service vehicles up here by the garden. The grass is apparently very fragile."**

The four all laughed out loud at the similarities between what Delia had said earlier and what she had said in the book.

**"So are my lungs," Kristy said. "And if we do it fast, they'll never notice."**

**Monica appeared in the open door, holding a cookie sheet. "Mushrooms?" she asked.**

**"Meatballs," Delia said, without looking up. "Put three trays in, get another three ready."**

**Monica turned her body slowly, glancing at the oven behind her. Then she looked at Delia again. "Meatballs," she repeated, like it was a foreign word.**

**"Monica, you do this every weekend," Delia said. "Try to retain some knowledge, please God I'm begging you."**

"She retains knowledge. She's just being passive aggressive!" Kristy defended her sister and Delia just sighed.

**"She retains knowledge," Kristy said, a little defensively. "She's just mad at me for holding us up, and that's how she expresses it. She's not good at being forthright about her emotions, you know that."**

Kristy nodded in agreement with herself again while the others smiled at the similarities between the two statements.

**"Then go help her, please," Delia said in a tired voice. "With the meatballs, not her emotions. Okay?"**

**"Okay," Kristy said cheerfully, pulling open the door and going inside.**

**Delia put her hand on the small of her back and looked at me. "Hi," she said, sounding a little surprised.**

"I wonder.." Wes trailed off and everyone looked at him curiously.

"What?" Bert asked tilting his head to the side.

"Well, I'm curious to see if this book is actually, I don't know, real. If it is, is Delia surprised to see that Macy really showed up just like she did in the book or is the book Delia completely unaware?"

"I don't get what you mean Wes." Delia said her eyebrows scrunched together as she rubbed her swollen belly.

"I just mean. Is this book real? And if it is are we going to act on what happens or are we going to keep it the same? Or does everything happen in the book _because_we know?" Wes finished and everyone was left with a slight headache.

"That sounds really complicated." Kristy stated finally and they all nodded in agreement while Wes just sighed.

"Never mind just read."

**"It's Macy, right?"**

**"Yes," I said. "I know this is probably a bad time—"**

"Usually is." Delia sighed and the rest nodded.

**"It's always a bad time," Delia said with a smile. "It's a bad business. But I chose it, so I can't really complain. What can I do for you?"**

**"I just wondered," I said, then stopped. I felt stupid now for holding her up, when so much else was going on. Maybe she had just been being nice when she'd said she would hire me. But then again, I was already here. I'd climbed that hill. The worst she could do was send me back down. "I just wondered," I said again, "if the offer still stood. About the job."**

**Before Delia could answer, Kristy reappeared in the doorway. "Meatballs are in," she said. "Can I get the van now?"**

"Can _you?_No." Delia said and Kristy pouted.

**Delia looked down the driveway, then shot a glance in the front window of the house. "Can_you ? ,_ no_"_ she said.**

Delia blinked in surprise while everyone else laughed.

"No need to repeat yourself Delia." Kristy said giggling.

**"It's just one hill." Kristy rolled her eyes. To me she said, "I'm a terrible driver. But the fact that I admit it, shouldn't that count for something?"**

"No." Everyone said together and once again Kristy pouted.

**"No," Delia said. She looked down the driveway, then at the house, as if weighing the pros and cons, before digging into the pocket of her apron to pull out some keys. "Once it's up here, unload fast," she said to Kristy. "And if anyone starts freaking, pretend you had no idea about the rules."**

**"What rules?" Kristy said, reaching for the keys.**

**Delia shifted them out of her reach, holding them out to me instead. "And Macy drives. Period. No argument."**

"Yay! Macy's going to work with us!" Kristy exclaimed happily and even Wes smiled a little. Macy would be interesting to work with.

**"Fine," Kristy said. "Let's just do it, okay?"**

**She turned on her heel and started down the driveway, bouncing a bit with each step. Even from a distance, you couldn't help but watch her: maybe it was the boots or the hair or the short skirt, but somehow to me it was something else. Something so electric, alive, that I recognized it instantly, if only because it was so lacking in myself.**

Kristy, who had been smiling, suddenly frowned.

"She's not very confident is she?" she wondered aloud and the rest were inclined to agree.

"We'll have to fix that!" Kristy declared then, determined.

**Delia was watching her, too, a resigned expression on her face, before turning her attention back to me. "If you want a job, it's yours," she said, dropping the keys into my hand. "Payday's every other Friday, and you'll usually know your schedule a week in advance. You'll want to invest in a few pairs of black pants and some white shirts, if you don't have a few already, and we don't work on Mondays. There's probably more you need to know but we're off to a rocky start here, so I'll fill you in later. Okay?"**

**"Sounds good," I said.**

**Kristy, already halfway down the driveway, turned her head and looked up at us. "Hey, Macy!" she yelled. "Let's go!"**

**Delia shook her head, pulling the screen door open. "Which is to say," she said to me, "welcome aboard."**

**At the library, I'd had two weeks of training. Here, it was two minutes.**

"Sounds about right." The Wish workers all said together.

**"What's most important," Kristy said to me, as we stood side by side at the counter, piling mini ham biscuits onto trays, "is that you identify what you're carrying and keep all crumpled-up napkins off your tray. No one will pick up anything and stick it in their mouth if it's next to a dirty napkin."**

**I nodded, and she continued.**

**"Here's what you need to remember," she continued, as Delia bustled past behind us, putting down another sheet of meatballs. "You don't exist. Just hold out your tray, smile, say, 'Ham biscuits with Dijon mustard' and move on. Try to be invisible."**

Kristy nodded, but Delia shook her head.

**"Right," I said.**

**"What she means," Delia clarified from the stove, "is that as a server, it's your job to blend in and make the partygoer's experience as enjoyable as possible. You are not attending the event: you are facilitating it."**

Now Delia nodded.

**Kristy handed me the tray of ham biscuits, plunking down a stack of napkins on its edge. This close to her, I still found my eyes wandering to her scars, but slowly I was getting used to them, my eyes drawn now and then to other things: the glitter on her skin, the two tiny silver hoops in each of her ears. "Work the edge of the room first. If you cross paths with a gobbler, pause for only a second, then smile and keep moving, even if they're reaching after you."**

**"Two and move." They all said together with a fond smile.**

**"Gobbler?" I said.**

**"That's someone who will clear your whole tray if you let them. Here's the rule: two and move. When they reach for a third, you're gone."**

**"Two and move," I said. "Right."**

**"If they don't let you move on," she continued, "then they cross over to grabber status, which is completely out-of-line behavior. Then you are wholly within your rights to stomp on their foot."**

"No your not!" Delia protested.

"But come on Delia. Even you can't say some of them don't deserve it." Kristy said and Delia had no reply leaving Kristy with a smug smile.

**"No," Delia said, over her shoulder. "Actually, you're not. Just excuse yourself as politely as possible, and get out of arm's reach."**

**Kristy looked at me, shaking her head. "Stomp them," she said, under her breath. "Really."**

"Kristy!" Delia said with a defeated sigh and the others just laughed.

**The kitchen was bustling, Delia moving from the huge stove to the counter, Monica unwrapping one foil tray after another, revealing the salmon, steaks, whipped potatoes. There was a crackling energy in the air, as if everything was on a higher speed than normal, the total opposite of the info desk. If I'd wanted something other than silence, I'd surely found it.**

"In spades." Wes said with a grin and Bert laughed as he read the next line

**"In spades."**

Wes flushed slightly and the rest laughed at the coincidence.

**"If there are old people," Kristy said now, glancing at the door, "make sure you go to them, especially if they're sitting down. People notice when Grandma's starving. Watch the room, keep an eye on who's eating and who's not. If you've done a full walk of the room and the goat cheese currant stuffed celery sticks aren't finding any takers, don't keep walking around."**

**"Goat cheese currant?" I said.**

"Oh my God! Let it go!" Delia cried while the others laughed.

**Kristy nodded gravely.**

**"It was just one time, one job!" Delia hissed from behind us. "I wish you all would just let that go. God!"**

Everyone laughed harder while Delia flushed and rubbed her pregnant tummy.

**"If something sucks," Kristy said, "it sucks. When in doubt, grab some meatballs and get back out there. _Everybody loves meatballs."_**

**"Truest statement there is." Bert said solemnly before continuing.**

**"What time is it?" Delia asked, as the oven shut with a bang. "Is it seven?"**

**"Six forty-five," Kristy told her, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. "We need to get out there."**

**I picked up my tray, then stood still while Kristy adjusted one biscuit that was close to falling off the edge. "You ready?" she asked me.**

**I nodded.**

**She pushed the door open with one hand, and some people standing nearby waiting for drinks at the bar turned and looked at us, their eyes moving immediately to the food. Invisible, I thought. After all the attention of the last year or so, I was pretty sure I could get used to that. So I lifted my tray up, squared my shoulders, and headed in.**

"I think she'll do well." Delia said with a smile.

**Thirty minutes later, I'd discovered a few things. First, everybody does love meatballs. Second, most gobblers position themselves right by the door, where they have first dibs on anything you bring out, and if you try to sidestep them, they quickly move into grabber mode, although I'd yet to have to stomp anyone. And it's true: you are invisible. They'll say anything with you standing there. Anything.**

"Pretty good gossip that way." Kristy said while the others just shrugged.

**I now knew that Molly and Roger, the bride and groom, had lived together for three years, a fact that one gobbler relative was sure contributed to the recent death of the family matriarch. Because of some bachelorette party incident, Molly and her maid of honor weren't currently speaking, and the father of the groom, who was supposed to be on the wagon, was sneaking martinis in the bathroom. And, oh yeah, the napkins were wrong. All wrong.**

"Lovely." Delia said faintly.

**"I'm not sure I understand," I heard Delia saying as I came back into the kitchen for a last round of goat cheese toasts. She was standing by the counter, where she and Monica were getting ready to start preparing the dinner salads, and next to her was the bride, Molly, and her mother.**

**"They're not right!" Molly said, her voice high pitched and wavery. She was a pretty girl, plump and blonde, and had spent the entire party, from what I could tell, standing by the bar with a pinched expression while people took turns squeezing her shoulder and making soothing it's-okay noises. The groom was outside smoking cigars, had been all night. Molly said, "They were supposed to say_Molly__and Roger , then the date, then underneath that,__Forever ."_**

**Delia glanced around her. "I'm sorry, I don't have one here… but don't they say that? I'm almost positive the one I saw did."**

**Molly's mother took a gulp of the mixed drink in her hand, shaking her head. Kristy pushed back through the door, dumping a bunch of napkins on her tray, then stopped when she saw the confab by the counter.**

"Confab? What the hell is a confab?" Kristy said looking around at everyone and Wes cleared his throat.

"It means conversation." Wes informed her.

"Why can't they just say conversation then?" Kristy asked but no one answered.

**"What's going on?" she said. Molly's mother was staring at the scars, I noticed. When Kristy glanced over at her, she looked away, though, fast. If Kristy noticed or was bothered, it didn't show. She just put her tray down, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.**

"Used to it." Kristy said with a shrug and no one knew what to say, she didn't seem to notice.

**"Napkin problems," I told her now.**

**Molly choked back a sob. "They don't say_Forever . They say__Forever …" She trailed off, waving her hand. "With that dot-dot-dot thing."_**

**"Dot dot dot?" Delia said, confused.**

"Does she mean an ellipsis?" Wes asked but no one answered.

**"You know, that thing, the three periods, that you use when you leave something open-ended, unfinished. It's a—" She paused, scrunching up her face. "You know! That thing!"**

**"An ellipsis," I offered, from the across the room.**

Wes nodded to himself but didn't say anything.

**They all looked at me. I felt my face turn red.**

**"Ellipsis?" Delia repeated.**

**"It's three periods," I told her, but she still looked confused, so I added, "You use it to make a transition. ****Also, it's used to show a thought trailing off. Especially in dialogue. "**

"Go Macy!" Kristy and Wes just rolled his eyes.

**"Wow," Kristy said from beside me. "Go Macy."**

**"Exactly!" Molly said, pointing at me. "It doesn't say_Molly and Roger, Forever . It says__Molly and__Roger, Forever… dot dot dot !" She punctuated these with a jab of her finger. "Like maybe it's forever, maybe it's not."_**

**"Well," Kristy said under her breath to me, "it is a_marriage , isn't it?"_**

"Kristy! Not helping!" Delia exclaimed and Kristy at least had the decency to look sheepish.

**Molly had pulled out a Kleenex from somewhere and was dabbing her face, taking little sobby breaths.**

**"You know," I said to her, trying to help, "I don't think anyone would think that an ellipsis represents doubt or anything. I think it's more, you know, hinting at the future. What lies ahead."**

**Molly blinked at me, her face flushed. Then she burst into tears.**

**"Oh, man," Kristy said.**

**"I'm sorry," I said quickly. "I didn't mean—"**

"It's not her fault." Wes said shaking his head.

**"It's not about the forever," her mother told me, sliding her arm over her daughter's shoulders.**

**"It's all about the forever!" Molly wailed. But then her mother was steering her out of the kitchen, murmuring to her softly. We watched her go, all of us quiet. I felt completely and totally responsible.**

**Clearly, this had not been the moment to show off my grammar prowess.**

**Delia wiped a hand over her face, shaking her head. "Good Lord," she said, once they were out of earshot. She looked at us. "What should we do?"**

**Nobody said anything for a second. Then Kristy put down her tray. "We should," she announced, definitively, "make salads." She started over to the counter, where she began unstack-ing plates. Monica pulled the bowl of greens closer, picking up some tongs, and they got to work.**

**I looked back over at the door, feeling terrible. Who knew three dots could make such a difference?**

**Like everything else, a love or a wish or whatever, it was all in the way you read it.**

**"Macy." I glanced up. Kristy was watching me. She said, "It's okay. It's not your fault."**

"No its not her fault." Delia agreed.

**And maybe it wasn't. But that was the problem with having the answers. It was only after you gave them that you realized they sometimes weren't what people wanted to hear.**

**"All in all," Delia said three hours later, as we slid the last cart, now loaded down with serving utensils and empty coolers, into the van, "that was not entirely disastrous. In fact, I'd even go so far as to say it was half decent."**

**"There was that thing with the steaks," Kristy said, referring to a panicked moment right after we distributed the salads, when Delia realized half the fillets were still in the van and, therefore, ice cold.**

Delia sighed once more.

"Sounds like something that would happen." She said sounding somewhat exasperated.

**"Oh, right. I forgot about that." Delia sighed. "Well, at least it's over. Next time, everything will go smoothly. Like a well-oiled machine."**

**Even I, as the newbie, knew this was unlikely. All night there'd been one little problem after another, disasters arising, culminating, and then somehow getting solved, all at whiplash speed. I was so used to controlling the unexpected at all costs that I'd felt my stress level rising and falling, reacting constantly. For everyone else, though, this seemed perfectly normal. They honestly seemed to believe that things would just work out. And the weirdest thing was, they_did . Somehow. Eventually. Although even when I was standing right there I couldn't say how._**

Delia had to smile at that and so did the others.

**Now Kristy reached into the back of the van, pulling out a fringed black purse. "Hate to say it," she said, "but I give the marriage a year, tops. There's cold feet, and then there's oh-God-don't-do-it. That girl_was__freaking ."_**

_"_That's true." Wes agreed surprisingly with Kristy.

**Monica, sitting on the bumper, offered what I now knew to be one of her three default phrases, "Mmm-hmmm." The other two were "Better quit" and "Don't even," both said with a slow, drawled delivery, the words running together into one: "Bettaquit" and "Donneven." I didn't know who had christened her Monotone, but they were right on the money.**

"That'd be me." Kristy said cheerfully and Monica just sighed.

"Donneven." and they all laughed.

"**When you get home," Delia said to me, running her hands over her pregnant belly once and then resting her spread fingers there, "soak that in cold water and some Shout. It should come out."**

**I looked down at my shirt and the stain there I'd completely forgotten about. "Oh, right," I said. "I'll do that."**

**About halfway through dinner, some overeager groomsman, leaping up to make a toast, had spilled a full glass of cabernet on me. I'd already learned about gobblers and grabbers: at that moment, I got a full tutorial on gropers. He'd pawed me for about five minutes while attempting to dab the stain out, resulting in me getting arguably more action than I ever had from Jason.**

"Gross." Kristy said and Wes found himself surprisingly getting irritated. _What did_that _mean?_ he wondered

**Jason. As I thought his name, I felt a pull in my gut and realized that for the last three hours or so, I'd forgotten all about our break, my new on-hold girlfriend status. But it had happened, was still happening.**

**I'd just been too busy to notice.**

"Well that's good right?" Bert asked and they all nodded.

"Yeah! Go Macy! Forget about that jerk!" Kristy cheered.

**A car turned onto the road, its headlights swinging across us, then approaching slowly, very slowly. As it crept closer, I squinted at it. It wasn't a car but more like some sort of van, painted white with gray splotches here and there. Finally it reached us, the driver easing over to the curb carefully before cutting off the engine. A second later, a head popped out of the window.**

**"Ladies," a voice came, deep and formal, "witness the Bertmobile."**

"I finally got my car!" Bert said, pumping a fist in the air in excitement and Kristy rolled her eyes.

"The Bertmobile? Really?" She asked, but Bert just ignored her and continued to read.

**For a second, no one said anything. Then Delia gasped.**

**"Oh, my God," Kristy said. "You've got to be joking."**

**The driver's side door swung open with a loud creak, and Bert hopped out. "What?" he said.**

**"I thought you were getting Uncle Henry's car," Delia said, taking a few steps toward him as Wes climbed out of the passenger door. "Wasn't that the plan?"**

"So you didn't get Uncle Henry's car then?" Delia asked no one in particular, a frown covering her face. What was so bad about the car?

**"Changed my mind," Bert said, jingling his keys. In a striped shirt with a collar, khaki pants with a leather belt, and loafers, he looked as if he was dressed up for something.**

**"Why?" Delia asked. She walked up to the Bertmobile, her head cocked to the side. A second later, she took a step back, putting her hands on her hips. "Wait," she said slowly. "Is this an—"**

**"Vehicle that makes a statement?" Bert said. "Yes. Yes it is."**

**"—ambulance?" she finished, her voice incredulous. "It is, isn't it?"**

For a moment, just like in the back, there was silence.

"You got an ambulance?" Delia said, her voice filled with disbelief and Bert just shrugged those his eyes shined.

**"No way," Kristy said, laughing. "Bert, only you would think you could get action in a car where people have_died ."_**

**"Is it even legal to drive?" Delia questioned, but no one answered.**

**"Where did you get this?" Delia said. "Is it even legal to drive?"**

No one commented on the repetition. They were still in shock.

**Wes, now standing by the front bumper, just shook his head in a don't-even-ask kind of way. Now that I looked closer at the Bertmobile, I could in fact make out the faintest trace of an A and part of an M on the front grille.**

**"I bought it from that auto salvage lot by the airport," Bert said. You would have thought it was a new-model Porsche by the way he was beaming at it. "The guy there got it from a town auction. Isn't that the_coolest ?"_**

"More like the weirdest." Kristy said.

**Delia looked at Wes. "What happened to Uncle Henry's Cutlass?"**

**"I tried to stop him," Wes told her. "But you know how he is. He insisted. And it is his money."**

**"You can't make a statement with a Cutlass!" Bert said.**

**"Bert," Kristy said,_"__you_can't make a statement, period. I mean, what are you wearing ? Didn't I tell you not to dress like someone's dad? God. Is that shirt polyester_?"_**

_"Polyester?_" Kristy said faintly before turning to Bert, "Didn't I tell you to not wear polyester?" Bert only ignored her though and kept reading, his ears red.

**Bert, hardly bothered by this or any of her other remarks, glanced down at his shirt, brushing a hand over the front pocket. "_Poly-blend," he said. "_Ladies like a well-dressed man_."_**

**Kristy just rolled her eyes, while Wes ran a hand over his face. Monica, from behind me, said, "Donneven."**

**"It's an ambulance," Delia said flatly, as if saying it aloud might get her used to the idea.**

"Nothing will ever get me used to this idea." Delia said shaking her head.

**"A former ambulance," Bert corrected her. "It's got history. It's got personality. It's got—"**

**"Final sale status," Wes said. "He can't take it back. When he drove it off the lot, that was it."**

"Of course." Wes said, his voice sounded partly amused and partly exasperated.

**Delia sighed, shaking her head.**

**"It's what I wanted," Bert said. It was quiet for a second: no one, it seemed, had an argument for this.**

**Finally Delia walked over and put her arms around Bert, pulling him close to her. "Well, happy birthday, little man," she said, ruffling his hair. "I can't believe you're already sixteen. It makes me feel_old ."_**

**"You're not old," he said.**

**"Old enough to remember the day you were born," she said, pulling back from him and brushing his hair out of his face. "Your mom was so happy. She said you were her wish come true."**

Delia nodded her head, but no one said anything. Bert's ears were scarlet.

**Bert looked down quickly, turning his keys in his fingers. Delia leaned close to him, then whispered something I couldn't hear, and he nodded. When he looked up again, his face was flushed, and for a second, I saw something in his face I recognized, something familiar. But then he turned his head, and just like that, it was gone.**

**"Did you guys officially meet Macy?" Delia asked, nodding at me. "Macy, these are my nephews, Bert and Wes."**

"Yeah we met her." Wes said looking pointedly at Bert who's face flamed.

**"We met the other night," I said.**

**"Bert sprung at her from behind some garbage cans," Wes added.**

**"God, are you two still doing that?" Kristy said. "It's so stupid."**

"It is not!"

**"I only did it because I'm down," Bert said, shooting me an apologetic look. "By three!"**

**"All I'm saying," Kristy said, pulling a nail file out of her purse, "is that the next person who leaps out at me from behind a door is getting a punch in the gut. I don't care if you're down or not."**

Kristy nodded her head, but Bert protested.

"I wouldn't jump out from a door! That's basic. We're way beyond that." Bert cried.

**"Mmm-hmmm," Monica agreed.**

**"I thought she was Wes," Bert grumbled. "And I wouldn't jump out from behind a door anyway. That's basic. We're way beyond that."**

Bert's face was soon becoming a permanent red as everyone laughed.

"We heard you the first time Bert!" Kristy said grinning.

**"Are you?" Kristy asked, but Bert acted like he didn't hear her. To me she said, "It's this stupid gotcha thing, they've been doing it for weeks now. Leaping out at each other and us, scaring the hell out of everyone."**

**"It's a game of wits," Bert said to me.**

**"Half-wits," Kristy added.**

**"There's nothing," Bert said, reverently, "like a good gotcha."**

**Delia, yawning, put a hand over her mouth, shaking her head. "Well, I hate to break this up, but I'm going home," she announced. "Old pregnant ladies have to be in bed by midnight. It's the rule."**

**"Come on!" Bert said, sweeping his hand across the ambulance's hood. "The night is young! The Bertmobile needs_christening!"_**

**"We're going to ride around in an ambulance?" Kristy said.**

**"It's got all the amenities!" Bert told her. "It's just like a car. It's_better than a car!"_**

**"Does it have a CD player?" she asked him.**

**"Actually—"**

**"No," Wes told her. "But it does have a broken intercom system."**

"Well I'm sold." Kristy said rolling her eyes and Bert laughed reading ahead. Sweet revenge.

"**Oh, well, then," she said, waving her hand. "I'm sold."**

Everyone laughed along with Bert then while Kristy just grimaced grudgingly.

**Bert shot her a look, annoyed, but she smiled at him, squeezing his arm as she started over to the Bertmobile. Monica stood up and followed her, and they went around to the back, pulling open the rear doors.**

**"Have a fun night," Delia called after them. "Don't drive too fast, Bert, you hear?"**

Everyone laughed loudly at that thought. As if Bert could drive too fast.

**This was greeted with uproarious laughter from everyone but Wes—who looked like he would have laughed but was trying not to—and Bert, who just ignored it as he walked over to the driver's side door.**

**"Wes," Delia called out, "can you come here for a sec?"**

**Wes started over toward her, but I was in the way, and we did that weird thing where both of us went to one side, then the other, in tandem.**

"God I hate those. It's so awkward! But at least you get to be close to Macy right Wes?" Kristy said teasingly and Wes flushed slightly and tried to ignore the butterfly feeling that had randomly appeared in his stomach- in his opinion- without reason.

**During this awkward dance I noticed he was even better looking up close than from a distance—with those dark eyes, long lashes, hair curling just over his collar, his jeans low on his hips—and he had a tattoo on his arm, something Celtic-looking that poked out from under the sleeve of his T-shirt.**

Wes' face flamed up at the description as Kristy nudged him teasingly again.

"Aw, hear that Wes? She think's your attractive." she cooed and Bert, looking to save his brother, continued reading.

**Finally I stopped moving, and he was able to get past me. "Sorry about that," he said, smiling, and I felt myself flush for some reason as I watched him disappear around the side of the van.**

_Why can't I be that cool now?_ Wes thought as Kristy continued to tease him.

**"Where are we supposed to sit?" I could hear Kristy asking from the back of the Bertmobile. "Oh, Jesus, is that a gurney?"**

"Please tell me it's not." Kristy said, momentarily stopping her teasing of Wes, but Bert just shrugged. He didn't know.

**"No," Bert said. "It's where the gurney used to be. That's just a cot I put in until I find something more comfortable."**

**"A cot?" Kristy said. "Bert, you're entirely too confident about this car's potential_._Really_."_**

**"Just get in, will you?" Bert snapped. "My birthday is ticking away. Ticking!"**

**Wes was walking back to the Bertmobile as I dug out my keys and started toward my car, passing the van on my way.**

**"Have a good night," he said to me, and I nodded, my tongue fumbling for a response, but once I realized that saying the same thing back would have been fine—God, what was wrong with me?—it was too late, and he was already getting into the Bertmobile.**

**As I passed the van, Delia was in the driver's seat fastening her seat belt. "You did great, Macy," she said. "Just great."**

**"Thanks."**

**She grabbed a pen off the dashboard, then reached into her pocket and pulled out a crumpled napkin.**

**"Here," she said, writing something on it, "this is my number. Give me a call on Monday and I'll let you know when I can use you next. Okay?"**

**"Okay," I said, taking the napkin and folding it. "Thanks again. I had a really good time."**

**"Yeah?" She smiled at me, surprised. "I'm glad. Drive safe, you hear?"**

"Yeah! Macy's working with us! And she _likes_it!" Kristy cheered happily and the others smiled.

**I nodded, and she cranked the engine, then pulled away from the curb, beeping the horn as she turned the corner.**

**I'd just unlocked my door when the Bertmobile pulled up beside me. Kristy was leaning forward from the backseat, hand on the radio: I could hear the dial moving across stations, from static to pop songs to some thumping techno bass beat. She looked across Wes, who was digging in the glove compartment, right at me.**

**"Hey," she said, "you want to come out with us?"**

"Please do!" Kristy begged, but Wes shook his head.

"You know she won't" he said and Kristy sighed.

"I know, but she will eventually." Kristy swore and no one disagreed with her.

**"Oh, no," I said. "I really have to go—"**

**Kristy twisted the dial again, and the beginning of a pop song blasted out, someone shrieking "_Baaaaby_!" at full melodic throttle.**

Both Bert and Wes winced.

**Bert and Wes both winced.**

**"—home," I finished.**

**Kristy turned down the volume, but not much. "Are you sure?" she said. "I mean, do you really want to pass this up? How often do you get to ride in an ambulance?"**

"Bad question." Delia said, remembering Macy's father and Kristy winced.

**One time too many, I thought.**

**"It's a refurbished ambulance," Bert grumbled.**

**"Whatever," Kristy said. To me she added, "Come on, live a little."**

**"No, I'd better go," I said. "But thanks."**

**Kristy shrugged. "Okay," she told me. "Next time, though, okay?"**

**"Right," I said. "Sure."**

**I stood there and watched them, noting how carefully Bert turned around in the opposite driveway, the way Wes lifted one hand to wave as they pulled away. Maybe in another life, I might have been able to take a chance, to jump into the back of an ambulance and not remember the time I'd done it before. But risk hadn't been working out for me lately; I needed only to go home and see my computer screen to know that. So I did what I always did these days, the right thing. But before I did, I glanced in my side mirror, catching one last look at the Bertmobile as it turned a far corner. Then, once they were gone, I started my engine and headed home.**

"That's it." Bert said and Delia nodded before standing.

"Alright. Why don't we all take a break? I'll text you guys to know when we'll read next." After everyone agreed. They all split up with the same thing on their mind. Macy and the book.


	5. Chapter 5

**From here to the end of the story is my work! If you see something familiar, I'm sorry I didn't mean for it to go in! I've read all of these kinds of stories for The Truth About Forever. **

It was 12:00 the next time they gathered. Kristy had slept in before Monica woke her up saying "Book".

"Who's Going to read" asks Wes.

"I will" says Delia

"Chapter Five" Delia read.

**_Dear Jason,_**

" No not him again" Groans Kristy. Wes and Bert silently agree Wile Monica says her standard "Mmmm-hmmm" Delia just sighs.

**_I received your email, and I have to say I was surprised to learn that you felt I'd been_**

**_Dear Jason,_**

**_I received your email, and I can't help but feel that maybe you should have let me know if you felt our relationship was_**

**_Dear Jason,_**

**_I received your email, and I can't believe you'd do this to me when all I did was say I love you, which is something most people who've been together can_**

**No, no, I thought, and definitely no.**

**It was Monday morning, and even with two full days to craft a response to Jason's email, I had nothing. The main problem was that what he'd written to me was so cold, so lacking of emotion, that each time i started to reply, I tries to us the same tone. But I couldn't. No matter how carefully I worked at it, by the time I finished all I could see was the raw sadness in the lines as I scanned them, all my failings cropped up in the spaces between the words. So finally , I decided that the best response-the safest-was none at all.**

"He probably Took it as that to" says Wes. _Good!_

**Since I hadn't heard from him, I assumed he'd accepted my silence as agreement. It was probably just what he wanted anyway.**

**As I drove to the library to begin another week at the info desk, I got stuck behind an ambulance at a stoplight, which made me think, as I had pretty frequently since Friday, about Wish Catering. I'd already had to confess about my new job to my mother, after she found my wine-stained shirt in the laundry room soaking in shout.**

Delia smiled.

**That's what I get for following instructions.**

**"But honey," she said her voice more questioning than disapproving, but it was early yet, "you already have a job."**

**"I know," I said, as she took another doubtful look at the shirt, eyeing the stain, "but I bumped into Delia on Friday at the supermarket, and she was all frazzled and short-handed, so I offered to help her out. It just kind of happened." This last part, at least, was true.**

"Nice excuse" said Kristy approvingly. Everyone nodded in agreement.

**She shut the washer, then turned and looked at me, crossing her arms over her chest. "I just think," she said, "that you might get overwhelmed. Your library job is a lot of responsibility. Jason is trusting you to really give it your full attention."**

**This would have been, in any other world, the perfect time to tell my mother about Jason's decision and our break. But I didn't. I knew my mother thought of me as the door daughter, the one she could depend on to be as driven and focused as she was. For some reason, I was sure that Jason's breaking up with me would make me less than that in her eyes. It was bad enough that I assumed I wasn't up to Jason's standards. Even worse would be for her to think so too.**

**"Catering is just a once in a while thing," I said now. "It's not a distraction. I might not even do it again. It was just . . . for fun."**

**"Fun?" she said. Her voice was so surprised, as if I'd told her that driving nails into my arms was, also, just as enjoyable. "I would think it would be horrible, having to be on your feet all the time and waiting on people . . . plus, well, that woman just seemed so disorganized. I'd go crazy."**

**"Oh," I said, "that was just when they were here. On Friday night, they were totally different."**

"Yah right" snorted Bert.

"She's probably not going to believe that" said Delia.

**"They were?"**

**I nodded.**

"She believed it" said Kristy awe-struck

**Another lie. But my mother would never have understood why, in some small way, the mayhem of Delia's business would appeal to me. I wasn't even sure I could explain it myself. All I knew was that the rest of the weekend had been a stark contrast to those few hours on Friday night. During the days, I'd done all the things I was supposed to: I went to yoga class, did laundry, cleaned my bathroom, and tried to compose an email to Jason. I ate lunch and dinner at the same time both days, using the same plate, bowl, and glass, washing them after each meal and stack them neatly in the dish rack, and went to bed by eleven, even though I rarely fell asleep , if at all, by two. For eighty-hours, I spoke to no one but a couple of telemarketers. It was so quiet that I kept finding myself sitting at the kitchen table listening to my own breathing, as if in all this order and cleanliness I needed to prove I was alive.**

"That's sad" Said Bert.

**"Well, we'll just see how it goes, okay?" my mother had said as I reached over and turned on the washer. The washer started gurgling, tackling the white stain. "The library job is still your first priority. Right?"**

**"Right," I agreed, and that was that.**

**Now, however, as I walked in to begin my second week of work-even though our shifts began at nine, and it was only eight-fifty, Bethany and Amanda were, naturally, already there and in place in their chairs- I felt a sense of inescapable dread. Maybe it was the silence. Or the stillness. Or the way Amanda raised her head and looked at me as I approached her brow furrowing.**

**"Oh, Macy," she said, with the same slightly surprise tone she'd used every day I'd showed up, "I wondered if you would make it in today . . . considering."**

"He didn't" asked Kristy.

"I think he did" said Bert.

"No duh" said Wes

**I knew what she meant, of course. Jason wasn't one to spill secrets, but there were a couple of other people from our high school at Brain Camp, one of whom, a guy named Rob who squinted all the time, was good friends with both Amanda and Jason. Whatever way it had gone, clearly this break wasn't just my secret anymore. Now, it was information, and as they were with everything else, Bethany and Amanda were suddenly experts.**

**"Considering," Amanda said, repeating the word slowly as if, by not raising to the bait, I must not have heard her, "What happened with you and Jason."**

"it's not their place to know about that." Huffs Delia.

**I turned so I was facing her. "It's just a break. And it has nothing to do with my job."**

**"Maybe so," she said, as Bethany put a pen to her lips. "We were just concerned it might, you know, affect your performance."**

**"No," I said. "It won't." And then I turned back to my computer screen. I could see their faces reflected there, the way Amanda shook her head in a she's-so-pathetic way, How Bethany pursed her lips, silently agreeing, before slowly swiveling back to face forward.**

**And so began the longest day yet. I didn't do much of anything, other than an all-time high of two questions (one from a man who stumbled in, unshaven and stinking of liquor, to ask about a job opening, And another from a six-year-old concerning how to find Mickey Mouse's address, Both of which were, at least in Bethany and Amanda's opinion, not worth their time, but fully suited to mine). All this made it more than clear that last week; I'd been an annoyance to be tolerated. Now I was one easily, and rightfully ignored.**

**It was just after dinner and I was following routine, Wiping down the kitchen countertops, when the phone rang. I didn't even reach for it, assuming it was a client calling for my mother. But then I heard her office door open.**

**"Macy? It's for you."**

"Oh thank god" Says Kristy.

**The first thing I heard when I picked up the kitchen phone was someone sobbing, in that blubbering, gaspy kind of way.**

"Lucy" laughs Wes while he shakes his head.

**"Oh, Lucy, honey please," I heard a voice saying over it. "You only do this when I'm on the phone, why is that? Hmmm? Why-"**

**"Hello?" I said.**

**"Macy, hi, it's Delia." The crying started up again fresh, climbing to a full-out wail. "Oh, Lucy, sweetie, please God I'm begging you, just let Mommy talk for five seconds . . . .Look, here's your bunny, see?"**

**I just sat there holding the phone, as the crying subsided to sniffling, then to hiccupping, then stopped altogether.**

**"Macy," She said, "I am so sorry. Are you still there?"**

**"Yes," I told her.**

**She sighed, that world-weary exhale I already associated with her, even though we hardly knew each other. "The reason I'm calling," she began, "is that I'm kind of in a bind and could use an extra pair of hands. I've got this big luncheon thing tomorrow, and currently I'm about two hundred finger sandwiches behind. Can you help me out?"**

**"Tonight?" I said, glancing at the clock on the stove. It was 7:50, the time when I usually went upstairs to check my email, then brushed and flossed my teeth before reviewing a few pages of my SAT word book so that I wouldn't feel too guilty about camping out in front of the TV until I was tired enough to try sleep.**

**"I know its short notice, but everyone else already had plans," Delia said now,**

"which you probably made up" said Delia.

**and I heard running water.** **"So don't feel bad about saying no . . . It was just a shot in the dark, you know. I dug out your mom's business card and thought I'd at least try to woo you over here."**

**"Well," I said, and the no, I can't, I'm sorry, was perched right there on my tongue, so close to my saying it that I could feel my lips forming the words. But then I looked around our silent, perfectly clean Kitchen.** **t was summer, early evening. Once this had been my favorite time of year, my favorite time of night. When the fireflies came out, and the heat cooled. How had I forgotten that?**

**". . . Don't know why you'd want to spend a few hours up to your elbows in watercress and cream cheese," Delia was saying in my ear as I snapped to, back to reality. "Unless you just had nothing else to do."**

**"I don't," I said suddenly, surprising myself. "I mean, nothing that can't wait.'**

**"Really?" she said. "Wonderful. Oh, God. You're saving my life! Here, let me give you directions. Now, it's kind of a ways out, but I'll pay you from right now, so your driving time will be on the clock."**

**As I picked a pen out of the jar by the phone, pulling a notepad closer to me, I had a sudden pang of worry thinking about this deviation from my routine. But this was just one night, one chance to vary and see where it took me. The fireflies were probably already out: maybe it wasn't just a season or a time but a whole world I'd forgotten. I'd never know until I stepped out into it. So I did.**

**Delia's directions were like Delia: clear in places, completely frazzled in others.** **The first part was easy. I'd taken the main road through town then past the city limits, where the scenery turned from new subdivisions and office buildings to smaller farmhouses to big stretches of pasture and dairy lands, plus cows. It was the turn off that road, however-which led to Delia's street-that where I got stuck. Or lost. Or both. It just wasn't there, period, no matter how many times I drove up and down looking for it. Which became sort of embarrassing, as there was a produce stand I kept driving by-it's sign, painted in bright red, said, TOMATOES FRESH FLOWERS PIES- where an older woman was sitting in a lawn chair, a large flashlight in her lap, reading a paperback book. The third time I passed her, she put the book down and watched me. The fourth, she got involved.**

**"You lost, sugar?" she called out as I crept passed, scanning the scenery for the turnoff-** **"It's narrow dirt road, blink and you'll miss it," Delia had said- Wondering if this was some sort of induction process for new employees or something, like hazing or catering boot camp.** **I stopped my car, then backed up slowly. By the time I reached the stand, the woman had gotten out of her chair and was coming to bend down into my passenger window. She looked to be in her early fifties, maybe, with graying hair pulled back at her neck, and was wearing jeans and a white tank top, with a shirt tied at her ample waist.**

"Stella" said everyone.

**She still had the paperback in her hand, and I glanced at the title: The Choice, by Barbara Starr. There was a shirtless man on the cover, a women in a tight dress pressed against him. Her place was held with a nail file.**

**"I'm looking for Sweetbud Drive," I said. "It's supposed to be off this road, but I can't-"**

**"Right there," she said, turning and pointing to a gravel strip to the right of the produce stand, so narrow it looked more like a driveway than a real street. "Not your fault you missed it, the sign got stolen again last night. Bunch of damn potheads, I swear." She indicated a spot on the other side of the drive where, in fact, there was a pole, no sign attached.** **"And that's the fourth time this year. Now nobody can find my house until the DOT get someone out here to replace it."**

**"Oh," I said. "That's terrible."**

**"Well," she replied, switching her paperback to the other hand, "maybe not terrible. But it sure is inconvenient. Like life isn't complicated enough. You should at least be able to follow the **_**signs**_**."** **She stood up, stretching. "Oh, and on your way, watch out for the big hole. It's right past the sculpture, and it's a doozy. Stick to the left." Then she patted my hood, smiled at me, and walked back to her lawn chair.**

**"Thank you," I called out after her, and she waved at me over her shoulder. I turned around in the road and started down Sweetbud drive, mindful that somewhere up ahead there was both a sculpture and a big hole. I saw the sculpture first.**

**It was on the side of the narrow drive, in a clearing between two trees. Made of rusted metal, it was huge-at least six feet across-shaped like an open hand. It was encircle by a piece if rebar with a bicycle chain woven around its edges, like some sort of garland.** **In the palm of the hand, a heart shape had been cut out, and a smaller heart, painted bright red, hung within it, spinning slightly in the breeze that was blowing. **

"Sounds like she likes it" teases Kristy. Wes blushes.

**I just sat there, my car barely crunching over the gravel, and stared at it. I couldn't help but think I had seen that design somewhere before.**

**And then I hit the hole.**

Everyone laughed.

_**Clunk!**_** Went my front left wheel, disappeared into it entirely. O-Kay, I thought, I thought, as my entire car tilted to one side, **_**this**_** must be why she called it a doozy.**

**I was sitting there, trying to think of a way I could get myself out somehow and saved the embarrassment of having to make such an entrance, when I looked up ahead and saw someone walking toward me from a house at the end of the road. It was just getting dark, so at first it was hard to make them out. Only when he was right in front of my widely slanting front bumper did I realize it was Wes.**

Kristy shot Wes a smirk.

**"Whatever you do," he called out, "don't try and reverse out of it. That only makes it worse." Then, as he got closer, he looked at me and started slightly. I wasn't sure who he'd been expecting, but obviously it was a surprise seeing me. "Hey", he said.**

"Who were you expecting" asks Kristy.

"Not her." Says Wes in a 'Duh' voice.

**"Hi." I swallowed. "I'm, um-"**

**"Stuck," he finished. He disappeared for a second, ducking down to examine the hole and my tire within it. Leaning out my window, at the odd angle I was, I found myself almost level with the top of his head. A second later, when he looked up at me, we were face to face, and again, even under these circumstances, I was struck by how good looking he was,**

"Aww look your blushing" teases Kristy to Wes who was in fact blushing.

"Shut up. So what the thinks I'm attractive. Its whats in the inside that matters." Says a red Wes.

**In that accidental, doesn't-even-know-it kind of way. Which only made it worse. Or better. Or whatever.** **"Yup," he said, as if there'd been any doubt, "you're in there, all right."**

**"I was warned, too," I told him, as he stood up. "I just saw that sculpture, and I got distraction."**

**"The sculpture?" he looked at it, then at me. "Oh, right. Because you know it."**

"What" Asks Bert.

**"What?" I said.**

"Oh yah I think like Macy!" Says Bert. "Wait is that a good thing?"

"I don't know but I know one thing you are not as smart as her" says Kristy. Bert just glares.

**He blinked, seeming confused, then shook his head. "Nothing. I just thought maybe, um, you'd seen it before, or something. There are a few around town."**

**"No, I haven't," I said. The breeze had stopped blowing now, and in the stillness the heart was just there in the center of the hand, suspended. "It's amazing, though."**

**I heard a door slam off to my right and glanced over to see Delia standing on the front porch of a white house, her arms crossed over her chest. "Macy?" she called out. "Is that you? Oh, God, I forgot to tell you about the hole. Hold on, we'll get you out. I'm such an idiot. Just let me call Wes."**

**"I'm on it," Wes yelled back, and she put her hand on her chest, relieved, then sat down on the steps. Then, to me, he added, "Hold tight. I'll be back in a second."**

**I sat there, watching as he jogged back down the street, disappearing into the yard of the house at the very end. A minute later an engine started up, a ford pickup truck pulled out to face me, then drove down the side of the road, bumping over the occasional tree root. Wes drove past me, then backed up until his back bumper was about a foot from mine. I heard a few clanks and clunked as he attached something to my car. Then I watched my side mirror as he walked back up to me, his white T-shirt bright in the bark.**

**"The trick," he said, leaning into my window, "is to get the angle just right." He reached over, putting his hands on my steering wheel, and twisted it slightly. "Like that," he said. "Okay?"**

"I bet you liked that!" teased Bert.

Wes was taken aback, he expected that from Kristy not Bert.

**"Okay," I said, putting my hands where his had been.**

**"Have you out in a sec," he said. He walked back to the truck, got in, and put it in gear. I sat there, hands locked on the where he'd said to keep them, and waited.**

**The truck revved, then move forward, and for a second, nothing happened. But then, suddenly, was moving. Rising. Up and out, bit by bit, until, in my headlights, I could see the hole emerging in front of me, now completely empty. And it was huge. More like a crater, like something you'd see on the moon. A doozy, indeed.**

**Once I was back on level ground, Wes hopped out of the truck, undoing the tow rope. "You're fine now," he called from somewhere near my bumper. "Just keep left. **_**Way**_** left."**

**I stuck my head out of the window. "Thank you," I said. "Really."**

**He shrugged. "No problem. I do it all the time. Just pulled out the FedEx guy yesterday." He tossed the rope into the trunk bed, where it landed with a thunk. "He was not happy."**

**"It's a big hole," I said, taking another look at it.**

**"It's a monster." He ran a hand through his hair, and I saw the tattoo on his arm again, but he was too far away for me to make it out. "We need to fill it, but we never will."**

**"Why not?"**

**He glanced over at Delia's house. I could now see her coming down the walk. She had on a long skirt and a red T-shirt, her feet bare. "It's a family thing," he said. "Some people believe everything happens for a reason. Even massive holes."**

**"But you don't," I said.**

**"Nope," he said. He looked over my car at the hole, studying it for a second. I was watching him, not even aware of it until he glanced at me.** **"Anyway," he said as I focused back on my steering wheel, "I'll see you around."**

**"Thanks again," I said shifting into first.**

**"No problem. Just remember: left."**

**"Way left," I told him, and he nodded, then knocked the side of my bumper, **_**rap-rap**_**, and started back to the truck.**

Wes Smiled. He liked that she repeated what he said. No one saw the smile because he ducked his head. Kristy laughed because she thought he was blushing.

**As he climbed in I turned my steering wheel and eased around the hole, then drove the fifty feet or so to Delia's driveway, where she was waiting for me. Right as I reached to open my door, Wes's truck blurred past in my rearview mirror: I could see him in silhouette, his face illuminated by the dashboard lights. Then he disappeared behind a row of trees, gravel crunching, and was gone.**

**"The thing about Wes," Delia said to me, unwrapping another package of Turkey, "is that he thinks he can fix anything. And if he can't fix it, he can at least do something with the pieces of what's broken."**

**"That's bad?" I asked, dipping my spreader back into the huge, industrial sized jar of mayonnaise on the table in front of me.**

**"Not bad," she said. "Just-different."**

**We were in Delia's garage, which served as Wish Catering central. It was outfitted with two industrial-sized ovens, a large fridge, and several stainless-steel tables, all of which were piled with cutting boards and various utensils. We were sitting on opposite sides of one of the tables, assembling sandwiches. The garage door was open, and outside I could hear crickets chirping.**

"That sounds peaceful." Muses Kristy.

**"The way I see it," she continued, "is that some things are just meant to be the way they are."**

**"Like the hole," I said, remembering how he'd glanced at her saying this. She put down the turkey she was holding and looked at me.**

**"I know what he told you," she said. "He said that I was the reason the hole was still there, and that if I'd just let him fill it was wouldn't have the postman pissed off to the point of sabotaging out mail, and I wouldn't be faced with yet another bill from Lakeview Tire for some poor client who busted their Goodyear out there."**

**"No," I said slowly, spreading the mayonnaise in a thin layer on the bread in front of me, "he said that some people believe everything happens for a reason. And some people, well, don't."**

**She thought for a second. "It's not that I believe that some people believe everything happens for a reason," she said. "It's just that . . . I just think that some things are meant to be broken. Imperfect. Chaotic. It's the universes way of providing contrast, you know? There have to be a few holes in the road. It's how life **_**is**_**."**

**We were quiet for a second. Outside, the very last of the sunset, fading pink, was disappearing behind the trees.**

**"Still," I said, putting another slice of bread on the one in front of me, "it is a big hole."**

"Yup" Surprisingly Monica said this.

**"It's a huge hole," she conceded, reaching for the mayonnaise. "But that's kind of the point. I mean, I don't want to fix it because to me, it's not broken. It's just here, and I work around it. It's the same reason I refuse to trade in my car, even though, for some reason, the A/C won't work when I have the radio on. I choose: music, or cold air. It's not that big of a deal."**

**"The A/C won't work when the radio's on?" I asked. "That's so weird."**

"it is." Says Delia.

"Have you figured out why yet" asks Wes.

"No I'm afraid I'll never be able to." Sighs Delia.

**"I know." She pulled out three more slices of bread, putting mayonnaise, then lettuce, on them assembly-line style. "On a bigger scale, it's the reason that I won't hire a partner to help me with the catering, even though it's been chaos on the wheels with Wish gone. Yes, things are sort of unorganized. And sure, it would be nice not to feel like we were close to disaster every second."**

**I started another sandwich listening.**

**"But if everything was always smooth and perfect," she continued, "you'd get too used to that, you know? You have to have a little bit of disorganization now and then. Otherwise, you'll never really enjoy it when things do go right. I know you think I'm a flake. Everyone does."**

**"I don't," I assured her, but she shook her head, not believing me.**

**"It's okay. I mean, I can't tell you how many times I've caught Wes out there with someone from the gravel place, secretly trying to fill that hole."**

**She put another row of bread down. "And Pete, my husband, he's tried twice to lure me to the car dealership to trade in me old thing for a new car. And as far as the business goes . . . I don't know. They leave me alone on that. Because of Wish. Which is so funny, because if she was here, and saw how things are . . . she's flip out. She was the mort organized person in the world."**

**"Wish," I said, reaching for the mayonnaise. "That's such a cool name."**

Everyone smiles. Though most are sad.

**She looked up at me, smiling. "It is, isn't it? Her real name was Melissa. But when I was little, I mispronounced it all the time, you know, Ma-Wish-a. Eventually, it just got shortened to Wish, and everyone started calling her that. She never minded. I mean, it fit her." She picked up the knife at her elbow, then carefully sliced the sandwiches into halves, then fourths, before stacking them onto the tray beside us. "This was her baby, this business. After she and the boys' dad divorced, and he moved up North, it was like her new start, and she ran it like a well-oiled machine. But then she got sick . . . breast cancer. She was only thirty-nine when she died."**

**It felt so weird, to be on the other side, where you were the one expected to offer condolences, not receive them. I wanted my "sorry" to sound genuine, because it was.**

"She is so sweet" coos Delia.

**That was the hard thing about grief, and the grieving. They spoke another language, and the words we knew always fell short of what we wanted them to say.**

**"I'm so sorry, Delia," I told her. "Really."**

**She looked up at me, a piece of bread in one hand. "Thank you," she said, then placed it on the table in front of her. "I am, too." Then she smiled at me sadly, and started to assemble another sandwich. I did the same, and neither of us said anything for a few minutes. The silence wasn't like the ones I'd known lately, though: it wasn't empty as much as chosen. There's an entirely different feel to quiet when you're with someone else, and at any moment it could be broken. Like the difference between a pause and an ending.**

**You know what happens when someone dies?" Delia said suddenly, startling me a bit. I kept putting together my sandwich, though not answering: I knew there was more. "It's like, everything and everyone refracts, each person having a different reaction. Like me and Wes. After the divorce, he fell in with this bad crowd,** **got arrested, she hardly knew what to do with him. **

Wes looked ashamed of himself.

**But then, when she got sick, he changed. Now he's totally different, now he's so protective of Bert and focused on his welding and the pieces he makes. It's his way of handling."**

**"Wes does welding?" I asked, and then, suddenly, I thought of the sculpture. "Did he do-"**

**"The heart in hand," she finished for me. "Yeah. He did. Pretty incredible, huh?"**

**"It is," I said. "I had no idea. I was talking about it with him and he didn't even tell me."**

"It's nothing." Shrugged Wes.

"It's amazing" Argues Kristy.

**"Well, he'll never brag on it," She said pulling the mayonnaise over to her. "that's how he is. His mom was the same way. Quiet and incredible. I really envy that."**

**I watched her as she cut another two sandwiches down, the knife clapping against the cutting board. "I don't know," I said. "You seem pretty incredible. Running this business with a baby, and another one on the way."**

**"Nah." She smiled. "I'm not. When Wish died, it just knocked the wind out of me. Truly. It's like that stupid thing Bert and Wes do, the leaping out thing, trying to scare each other: it was the biggest gotcha in the world ." She looked down at the sandwiches. "I'd just assumed she would be okay. It had never occurred to me she might actually just be . . . gone. You know?"**

**I nodded, just barely. I felt bad that I didn't tell her about my dad, chime in with what I knew, how well I knew it. With Delia, though, I wasn't that girl, the one whose dad had died. I wasn't like anybody. And I liked that. It was selfish but true.**

**"And then she was," Delia said, her hand on the bread bag. "Gone. Gotcha. And suddenly I had these two boys to take care of, plus a newborn of my own. It was just this huge loss, this huge gap, you know."**

"Shoulda stopped there" Says Delia sadly.

"you didn't know." Says comfortingly.

**"I know," I said softly.**

**"Some people," she said, and I wasn't even sure she'd heard me, "they can just move on, you know, mourn and cry and be done with it. Or at least seem to be. But for me . . . I don't know. I didn't want to fix it, to forget. It wasn't something that was broken. It's just . . . something that happened. And like that hole, I'm just finding my ways, every day, of working around it. Respecting and remembering and getting on at the same time. You know?"**

**I nodded, but I didn't know.** **I'd chosen instead to just change my route, go miles out of the way, as if avoiding it might make it go away once and for all. I envied Delia. At least she knew what she was up against. Maybe that's what you got when you stood over your grief, faced it finally. A sense of its depths, it's area, the distance across, and the way over or around it, whichever you chose in the end.**

"That's true" says Wes

"That's it" Says Delia.

"I'll read" Says Wes. Delia passed the book to him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I don't own the truth about forever!**

**"Chapter 6" **Wes read.

**"Okay," Wes said under his breath. "Watch and learn."**

"No you aren't doing what I think you're doing" shouted Kristy.

**"Right," I said.**

**We were at the Lakeview Inn, finishing up appetizers for a retirement party, and Wes and I were in the coat closet, **

"Wow! You move fast" smirked Kristy.

"What-I-No I'm NOT doing that I do have a girlfriend you know!" shouted Wes.

"Then dump her!" said Kristy, "It'll be as easy as 1,2,3!" Wes just ignored her and read on.

**where he was teaching me the art if the gotcha.**

"NO! Not fair! Why does she get to help you! She'll be on my team this time!" exclaimed Bert. Kristy, Delia, and Wes just smirked.

**I been sent by a woman to hang up her wrap and found him there, perfectly positioned and silent lying in wait.**

**"Wes?" I'd said, and he'd slid a finger to his lips, gesturing for me to some closer with his other hand. Which I'd done, unthinkingly, even as I'd felt that same fluttering in my stomach I always felt when I was around Wes.** **Even when we weren't in an enclosed, small space together.**

"Hah see she likes you!" said Kristy. Wes just blushed.

**Goodness.**

**In the next room, I could hear the party: the clinking of forks against plates, voices trilling in laughter, strains of the piped-in violin music that the Lakeview Inn had played at my sister's wedding as well.**

"Unoriginal" complained Kristy.

**"Okay," Wes said his voice so low I would have leaned closer to him if I weren't already about as close as we could get. "It's all about timing."**

**An overcoat that smelled like perfume was hanging in my face: I pushed it aside as quietly as possible.**

**"Not now," Wes whispered. "Not now . . . not now . . ."**

**Then I heard it: footsteps. Muttering. Had to be Bert.**

"So not fair" grumbled Bert

**"Okay . . ." he said, and then he was moving, standing up, going forward, "now. **_**Gotcha!"**_

**Bert's shriek, which was accompanied by him flailing backwards and losing his footing, then crashing into the wall behind him. "God!" he said, his face turning red, the redder as he saw me. I couldn't really blame him: there was no way to be splayed on the floor and still look dignified.**

Everyone burst out laughing except for Bert who blushed red as a tomato.

"Man I got to get Macy to do another one with me" sighed Wes.

**He said sputtering, "That was-"**

**"Number six," Wes finished for him. "By my count."**

**Bert got to his feet, glaring at us. "I'm going to get you so good," He said darkly, pointing a finger at Wes, then at me, then back at Wes. "Just you wait."**

"Exactly!" shouted Bert.

**"Leave her out of it," Wes told him. "I was just demonstrating."**

**"Oh no," Bert said. "She's part of it now. She's one of us. No more coddling for you, Macy."**

**"Bert, you've already jump out at her," Wes pointed out.**

**"It's **_**on!**_**" Bert shouted, ignoring this. Then he stalked down the hallway, again muttering, and disappeared into the main room, letting the door bang shut behind him. Wes watched him go, hardly bothered. In fact, he was smiling.**

**"Nice work," I told him, as we started down the hallway to the kitchen.**

**"It's nothing," he said. "With enough practice, you too can pull a good gotcha someday."**

**"Frankly," I said, "I'm a little curious about the derivation of all this."**

**"Derivation?"**

"what does that mean?" asks Kristy.

"How it stared" answers Wes.

**"How it started."**

Wes blushes.

**"I know what it means," he said. For a second I was horrified, thinking I'd offended him, but he grinned at me. "It's just such an SAT word. I'm impressed."**

**"I'm working on my verbal," I explained.**

**"I can tell," He said, nodding at one of the Lakeview Inn valets as he passed. "Truthfully, it's just a dumb thing we started about a year ago. It pretty much came from us living alone in the house after my mom died. It was really quiet, so it was easy to sneak around."**

**I nodded as if I understood this, although I couldn't really picture myself leaping out at my mother from behind a door or plotted plant, no matter how perfect the opportunity. "I see," I said.**

**"Plus," Wes continued, "there's just something fun, every once in a while, about getting the shit scared out of you. You know?"**

**This time I didn't nod or agree. I could do without scares, planned or unplanned, for a while. "Must be a guy thing," I said.**

"yes" said all of the girls, the guys just looked at each other and said "maybe".

**He shrugged, pushing the kitchen door open for me. "Maybe," He said.**

Bert and Wes hi-fived each other.

**As we walked in, Delia was standing in the center of the room, hands pressed to her chest. Just by the look on her face, I knew something was wrong.**

**"Wait a second," she said. "Everyone freeze."**

**We did. Even Kristy, who normally ignored most directives, stopped what she was doing, a cheese biscuit dangling in midair over her tray.**

Bert, Wes, and Kristy laughed picturing this.

**"Where," Delia said slowly, taking a look around the room, "are the hams?"**

**Silence. Then Kristy said, her voice low, "Uh-oh."**

**"Don't say that!" Delia moved down the counter, hands suddenly flailing as pulled all the cardboard boxes we'd lugged in closer to her, peering into each of them. "They have to be here! They have to be! We have a **_**system**_** now!"**

"We do?" asks Delia.

**And we did. **

"**We do." Confirms Kristy.**

**But it was new, only implemented since the night before, when, en route to a cocktail party, it became apparent that no had packed the glasses. After doubling back and arriving late, Delia had used her current pregnancy insomnia to compile a set of checklists covering everything from appetizers to napkins. We were each given one, for which we were wholly responsible. I was in charge of utensils. If we were lacking tongs, it was all on me.**

**"This is not happening," Delia said now, plunging her hands into a small box on the kitchen island hardly big enough for half a ham, let alone the six we were missing. "I remember, they were in the garage, on the side table, all ready to go. I **_**saw**_** them."**

**One the other side of the kitchen door, I could hear voices rising: it was getting more crowded, which meant soon they'd be expecting dinner. Our menu was cheese biscuits and goat cheese to start, followed by green bean casserole, rice pilaf, rosemary dill rolls, and ham. It was a special request. Apparently, these were pork people.**

"Can we have ham for dinner? Please?" asks Bert.

"No." says Delia.

**"Okay, Okay, let's just calm down," Delia said, although rustling through the plastic bags full of uncooked rolls with a panicked expression, she seemed like the only one really close to losing it. "Let's retrace our steps. Who was on what?"**

**"I was on appetizers, and they're all here," Kristy said, as Bert came through the swinging door form the main room, an empty tray in his hand. "Bert. Were you on ham?"**

**"No. Paper products and serving platters," he said, holding the one in his hand up as proof. "Why? Are we missing something?"**

**"No," Delia said firmly. "We're not."**

**"Monica was on ice," Kristy said, continuing the count. "Macy was utensils, and Wes was glasses and champagne. This means the ham belong to-"she stopped abruptly. "Oh. Delia."**

"oh the irony." Laughs Kristy.

**"What?" Delia said, jerking her head out of a box filled with loaves of bread. "No, wait, I don't think so. I was on-" **

**We all waited. It was, after all, her system.**

**"Main course," she finished.**

**"Uh-oh," Bert said.**

**"Oh God!" Delia slapped a hand to her forehead. "I did have the hams on the side table, and I remember being worried that we might forget them, so while we were packing the van I put them-"**

**Again, we waited.**

**"On the back of my car," Delia finished, placing her palm square in the middle of her forehead. "Oh, my God," she whispered, as if the truth, so horrible, might deafen us all, "they're still at the house. On my **_**car**_**."**

"I thought she drove away with them on her car." Said Bert.

**"Uh-oh," Bert said again. He was right: it was a full thirty minutes away, and these people were expecting their ham in ten.**

**Delia leaned back against the stove. "This," she said, "is awful."**

**For a minute, no one said anything. It was a silence I'd grown to expect when things like this happened, the few seconds as we accepted, en masse, the crashing realization that we were, in fact, screwed.**

**Then, as always, Delia pushed on. "Okay," she said, "here's what we are going to do . . . ."**

**So far, I'd done three jobs with Wish since that first one, including a cocktail, a brunch, and a fiftieth-anniversary party. At each, there was one moment-an old man pinching my butt as I passed with scones; the moment Kristy and I collided and her tray bonked me in the nose, showering salmon and crudités down my shirt; the time when Bert hit me with another gotcha, jumping out from a coat rack and sending the stack of plates I was carrying, as well as my blood pressure, skyrocketing-** **When I wondered what in the world I'd been thinking taking this on. At the end of the night, though, when it was all over, I felt something strange, a weird calmness. Almost a peace. It was like those few hours of craziness relaxed something held tight in me, if only for a little while.**

**Most of all, though, it was fun. Even if I was still learning things, like to duck when Kristy yelled, "Incoming!" meaning she had to get something- a pack of napkins, some tongs, a tray- across a room so quickly that only throwing it would suffice, or never to stand in front of swinging doors, ever, as Bert always pushed them open with too much gusto, without taking into consideration that there might be anything on the other side.** **I learned that Delia hummed when she was nervous, usually "American Pie," and that Monica never got nervous at all, was in fact capable of eating shrimp or crab cakes, hardly bothered, when the rest of us were in total panic mode. And I learned I could always count on Wes For a raised eyebrow, an under-the-breath sarcastic remark, or just a sympathetic look when I found in a bind: no matter where I was in the room, or what was happening, I could look over at the bar and feel that someone, at least, was on my side. It was the total opposite of what I felt at the library, or how I felt anywhere else, for that matter. Which was probably why I liked it.**

"She really likes working with us!" Exclaims Kristy.

**But then, after the job was over and the van packed up to go home, after we'd stood around while Delia got paid, everyone laughing and trading stories about grabbers and gobblers and grandmas, the buzz of rushing around would wear off.** **As I began to remember that I had to be at the library the next morning, I could feel myself starting to cross back to my real life, bit by bit.**

**"Macy," Kristy would say, as we put the last of the night's supplies back in Delia garage, "you coming out with us tonight?"**

**She always extended the invitation, even though I said no every time. Which I appreciated. It's nice to have options, even if you can't take them.**

**"I can't," I'd tell her. "I'm busy."**

**"Okay," she'd say shrugging. "Maybe next time."**

**It went like that, our own little routine, until one night when she squinted at me, curious. "What do you do every night, anyway?" She'd asked.**

**"Just, you know, stuff for school," I'd told her.**

"We really need to get her away from those Books." Says Kristy

**"Donneven," Monica said, shaking her head.**

**"I'm preparing for the SATs," I said, "and I work another job in the mornings."**

**Kristy rolled her eyes. "It's summertime," she told me. "I mean, I know you're a smarty-pants, but don't you ever take a break? Life is long, you know."**

**Maybe, thought. Or maybe not. Out loud I said, "I just really, you know, have a lot of work to do."**

**"Okay," she'd said. "Have fun. Study for me, while you're at it. God knows I need it."**

**So while at home I was still fine-just-fine Macy, wiping up sink splatters immediately and ironing my clothes as soon as they got out of the dryer, the nights when I arrived home from catering, I was someone else, A girl with mussed hair, a stained shirt, smelling of whatever had been spilled or smeared on me. It was like Cinderella in reverse: if I was a princess for my daylight hours, at night I let myself and my composure go, just until the stroke of midnight, when I turned back to princess again; just in time.**

**The ham disaster was like all others, eventually averted. Wes ran to the gourmet grocery where Delia was owed a favor, and Kristy and I just kept walking through with more appetizers, deflecting all queries about when dinner was being served with a bat of the eyelashes and a smile (her idea, of course). When the ham was finally served-forty-five minutes late-it was a hit, everyone went home happy.**

**It was ten-thirty by the time I finally pulled up at Wildflower Ridge, my headlights swinging across the town common and into our cul-de-sac, where I saw my house, my mailbox, everything as usual, and then something else.**

**My dad's truck.**

"Why is it there" asked Bert.

**It was in the driveway, right where he'd always parked, in front of the garage, left-hand side. I pulled up behind it, sitting there for a second. It was his, no question: I would have known it anywhere. Same rusty bumper, same EAT . . . SLEEP . . . FISH bumper sticker, same chrome toolbox with the dent in the middle from where he's dropped his chainsaw a few years earlier. I got out of my car and walked up to it, reaching out my finger to touch the license plate. For some reason I was surprised that it didn't just vanish, like a bubble bursting, the minute I made contact. That was the way ghost were supposed to be, after all.**

**But the metal handle felt real as I pulled open the driver's side door, my heart beating fast in my chest. Immediately, I could smell that familiar mix of old leather, cigar smoke, and the lingering scent of ocean and sand you carry back with you from the beach that you always wish would last, but never does.**

**I loved that truck. It was the place my dad and I spent more time together than anywhere else, me on the passenger side, feet balanced on the dashboard, him with one elbow out the window, tapping the roof along with the beat on the radio. We went out early Saturday mornings to get biscuits and drive around checking on job sites, drove home from meets in the dark, me curled up in that perfect spot between the seat and the window where I always fell asleep instantly. The air conditioners hadn't worked for as long as I'd been alive, and the heat cranked enough to dehydrate you within minutes, but it didn't matter. Like the beach house, the truck was dilapidated, familiar, with its own unique charm: it was my dad. And now it was back.**

**I eased the door shut; then went up to the front door of my house. It was unlocked, and as I stepped inside; kicking off my shoes as I always did, I could feel something beneath my feet. I crouched down, running my finger over the hardwood: it was sand.**

**"Hello?" I said, then listened to my voice bounce around our high ceilings back to me. Afterwards, nothing but silence.**

**My mother was at the sales office, had been there since five. I knew this because she'd left me a message around ten on my cell phone, telling me. Which meant that either sometime in the last five hour my father's truck had driven itself from the coast, or there was another explanation.**

"Another explanation" said Wes.

**I went back down the hallway and looked up to the second floor. My bedroom door, which I always left closed to it either cooler or warmer, was open.**

**I wasn't sure what to think as I climbed the stairs, remembering how many times I'd wished my dad would just turn up at the house one day, this whole thing one big misunderstanding we could all laugh about together. If only.**

**When I got to my room, I stopped in the open door and noticed, relieved, everything familiar: my computer, my closed closet door, my window. There was the SAT book on my bedside table, my shoes lined up by the waste basket. All as it should be. But then I looked at the bed and saw the dark head against my pillow. Of course my father wasn't back. But Caroline was.**

"What is her sister doing there" asks Delia.

**She'd just stopped in for a visit. But already, she was making waves.**

"Of course she was" said Kristy, rolling her eyes.

**"Caroline," my mother said. Her voice, once polite, then stern, was now bordering on snappy. "I'm not discussing this. This not the place or time."**

**"Maybe this isn't the place," Caroline told her, helping herself to another breadstick. "But Mom, really. It's time."**

**It was Monday, and we were all at Bella Luna, a fancy little bistro near the library. For once, I wasn't eating lunch alone, instead taking my hour with my mother and sister. Now, though, I was realizing maybe I would have preferred to eat my regular sandwich on a bench alone, as it became increasingly clear that my sister had come with an agenda.**

**"I just think," she said now, glancing at our waitress as she passed, "that it's not what Dad would have wanted. He loved that house. And it's sitting there, rotting. You should see all the sand in the living room, and the way the steps to the beach are sagging. It's horrible. Have you even been down to check on it since he died?"**

**I watched my mother's face as she heard this, the way, despite her best efforts, she reacted to the various breaches of conduct we'd long ago agreed on concerning my father and how he was mentioned. My mother and I preferred to focus on the future: this was the past. But my sister didn't see it that way. From the minute she'd arrived-driving his truck because her Lexus had blown a gasket while at the beach-it was like she'd brought him with her as well.**

**"The beach house is the least of my concerns, Caroline," my mother said now, as our waitress passed by again with a frazzled expression. We'd been waiting for our entrees for over twenty minutes. "I'm doing this new phase of townhouses, and the zoning has been extremely difficult . . ."**

**"I know," Caroline said. "I understand how hard it has been for you. For both of you."**

**"I don't think you do." My mother put her hand on her water glass but didn't pick it up or take a sip. "Otherwise you would understand that this isn't something I want to talk about right now."**

**My sister sat back in her chair twisting her wedding ring around her finger. "Mom," she said finally, "I'm not trying to upset you. I'm just saying that it's been a year and a half . . . and maybe it's time to move on. Dad would have wanted you to be happier than this. I know it."**

**"I thought this was about the beach house," my mother said stiffly.**

**"It is," Caroline said. "But it's also about living. You can't hide behind work for forever, you know. I mean, when was the last time you and Macy took a vacation or did something nice for yourselves?"**

**"I was at the coast just a couple weeks ago."**

**"For work," Caroline said. "You work late into the night, you get up early in the morning, you don't do anything but think about the development. Macy never goes out with friends, she spends all her time holed up studying, and she's not going to be seventeen forever-"**

**"I'm fine," I said.**

"No she's not" Said Kristy.

**My sister looked at me, her face softening. "I know you are," she said. "But I just worry about you. I feel like you're missing out on something you won't be able to get back later."**

**"Not everyone needs a social life like you had, Caroline," my mother said. "Macy's focused on school, and her grades are excellent. She has a wonderful boyfriend. Just because she's not out drinking beer at two in the morning doesn't mean she isn't living a full life."**

**"I'm not saying her life isn't full," Caroline said. "I just think she's awfully young to be so serious about everything."**

**"I'm fine," I said again, louder this time. They both look at me. "I am," I said.**

**"All I'm saying is that you both could use a little more fun in your lives," Caroline said. "Which is why I think we should fix up the beach house and all go down there for a few weeks in August. Wally's working this big case all summer, he's gone all the time, so I can really devote myself to this project. And then, when it's finished, we'll all go down there together, like old times. It'll be the perfect way to end the summer."**

**"I'm not talking about this now," my mother said, as the waitress, now red-faced, passed by again. "Excuse me," my mother said, too sharply, and the girl jumped. "We've been waiting for our food over twenty minutes."**

**"It will be right out," the girl said automatically, and then scurried toward the kitchen. I glanced at my watch: five minutes until one. I knew that Bethany and Amanda were most likely in their chairs already, the clock behind them counting down the seconds until they finally had something legitimate to hold against me.**

**My mother was focusing on some distant point across the restaurant, her face completely composed. Looking at her in the light falling across the table, I realized that she looked tired, older than she was. I couldn't remember the last time I'd seen her really smile, Or laugh a big belly laugh like she always did when my dad made one of his stupid jokes. No one else ever laughed-they were more groan inducing than anything else-but my mother always thought they were hysterical.**

**"When I first got to the beach house," Caroline said, as my mother kept her eyes locked on that distant spot, "I just sat in the driveway and sobbed. It was like losing him all over again, I swear."**

**I watched my mother swallow, saw her shoulders rise, then fall, as she took a breath.**

**"But then," my sister continued, her voice soft, "I went inside and remembered how much he loved that stupid moose head over the fireplace, even though it smells like a hundred year old socks. I remembered you trying to cook dinner on that stove top with only one burner, having to alternate pans every five minutes just to make macaroni and cheese and frozen peas, because you swore we wouldn't eat fish one more night if it killed you."**

**My mother lifted up her hand to her chin, pressing two fingertips there, and I felt a pang in my chest. Stop it, I wanted to say to Caroline, but I couldn't even form the words. I was listening too. Remembering.**

"That sounds like so much fun!" says Kristy.

**"And that stupid grill he loved so much, even though it was a total fire hazard," Caroline continued, looking at me now. "Remember how he always used to store stuff in it, like that Frisbee or the spare keys, and then forget and turn it on and set them on fire? Do you know there are still like five blackened keys sitting at the bottom of that thing?"**

**I nodded, but that was all I could manage. Even that, actually, was hard.**

"Poor Macy" says Kristy sadly.

**"I haven't meant to let the house go," my mother said suddenly, startling me. "It's just been one more thing to deal with . . . . I've had too much happening here." It can't be that easy, I thought, to get her to talk about this. To bring her closer to the one thing that I'd circled with her, deliberately avoiding, for months now. "I just-"**

**"It needs some new shingles," Caroline told her, speaking slowly carefully. "I talked to the guy next door, Rudy? He's a carpenter. He walked through with me. It needs basic stuff, a stove a screen door, and those steps fixed. Plus a coat of paint in and out wouldn't hurt."**

**"I don't know," my mother said, and I watched as Caroline put her hand on my mothers, their finger intertwining, Caroline's purposefully, my mother's responding seemingly without thinking. This reaching out to my mom was another thing I'd been working up to, never quite getting the nerve, but she made it look simple. "It's just so much to think about."**

**"I know," my sister said, in that flat-honest way she had always been able to say anything. "But I love you, and I'll help you. Okay?"**

**My mother blinked, then blinked again. It was the closet I'd seen her to crying in over a year.**

"She sounds like she needs a good cry" says Delia.

**"Caroline," I said, because I felt like I had to, someone had to.**

**"It's okay," she said to me, as if she was sure. No question. I envied her that, too. "It's all going to be okay."**

**Even though I scarfed down my linguini pesto in record time and ran the two blocks back to the library, it was one-twenty by the time I got back to work. Amanda, seated in her chair with her arms crossed over her chest, narrowed her eyes at me as I let myself behind the desk and, as I always did, batted around their thrones to reach my crummy little station in the back.**

**"Lunch ends at one," she said, enunciating each word carefully as if my tardiness was due to a basic lack of comprehension. Beside her, Bethany smiled, just barely, before lifting a hand to cover her mouth.**

**"I know, I'm sorry," I said. "It was unavoidable."**

**"Nothing is unavoidable," she said snippily before turning back to her computer monitor. I felt my face turn red, that deep burning kind of shame, as I sat down.**

**Then, about a year and a half too late, it hit me.**

"Finally!" Shouted Kristy and Bert.

**I was never going to be perfect. And what had all my efforts gotten me, really, in the end? A boyfriend who pushed me away the minute I cracked, making the mistake of being human. Great grades that would still never be good enough for girls who Knew Everything. A quiet, still life, free of any risks, and so many sleepless nights to spend within it, my heart heavy, keeping secrets my sister had empowered herself by telling. This life was fleeting, and I was still searching for the way I wanted to spend the time it that would make me happy, full, okay again.**

**I didn't know what it was, not yet. But something told me I wouldn't find it here.**

**So a few days later, back at Delia's after working a late-afternoon bridal shower (in a log cabin lodge, no less, very woody) and encountering another disaster of sorts (soda water dispenser explosion during toasts), I'd made it through another day with Wish that was pretty much like the others. Until now.**

**"Hey Macy," Kristy said, wiping something off the hem of her black fringed skirt, part of the gypsy look she was sporting, "You coming out with us tonight?"**

**It was our routine now, how she always asked me. As much part of the schedule as everything in my other life was, dependable just like clockwork. We both knew our parts. But this time, I left the script, took a leap, and improvised.**

**"Yeah," I said. "I am."**

"I did it! I'm amazing!" exclaims Kristy. Everyone just chuckled.

**"Cool," she said, smiling at me as she hitched her purse over her shoulder. The weird thing was how she didn't even seem surprised. Like she knew, somehow, that eventually I'd come around. **

"She probably did" said Wes.

**"Come on."**

"That's the end of the chapter." Said Wes.

"I'll read next" Said Bert.


	7. poll

**Hey guys this is not an update I just wanna tell you to take my poll so I know what to do.**

**~Alex**


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